I've spoken with his mother about what happened. He had lived for eight days. The house was full of people, her sister and brother, their spouses, my half sister, neighbors. He lay in a bassinet in the front room. His parents were to have divorced except his mom was pregnant. His father was out with a another woman and not living at home. The baby had had a fever and in 1957 the doctor would tell a new mother to stop breastfeeding and to use more nutritional formula, which his mom had gone to collect from her employer (was a gift). She was only gone not a half hour, and she returned to a house full of people to find he had died.
I found the headstone through
The stone I found, it turns out, was the one my father had replaced. Or, he had replaced the original as it had been worn by the weather and details were unreadable. The baby's mother lived in Michigan until 1964, and so she had not been to see the grave since; but, she explained to me, that my father's realization over his ways set him off to atone for things he had done. Replacing the stone had been on my dad's bucket list. The
There's nothing else exciting except the inspiration that is here. I'll receive a photo of my bro (it's coming in the mail).
Here's a link to