The two pictures were always in my grandmother’s home, properly framed. One, I clearly recall, contained a small locket of hair. They were of a young boy.
This was in 1933. His name was Edward Roberts, but everyone, including my grandmother, called him “Buddy.” I would later learn, when I was much older, that Buddy died from diphtheria. It was, unfortunately, common at the time. And obviously when it went through a school, it was devastating.
Buddy was a blonde-haired little boy, and when I was his age, so was I. My grandmother and I were very close, and as I think back on all of the time I spent with her, she never seemed to mind having a house full of my friends. Sometimes I now wonder if, on some of those days, when her home was filled with the laughter of little boys at play, her mind didn’t drift back to 45 years earlier and to the son she had lost.