Missing You Baby Johnny and Peter
by Fred Tombor
(Campbell, CA USA)
My brother John died when he was 18 months old. Peter died when he was 8 months old. What bothers me the most is the lack of memories. I have only one of John, my mother and I and John are in a field of tall grass laying on a blanket. I remember my mother saying that he was always stiff in her arms, not like regular babies. Something was not right with him.
I remember Peter, I used to rock him hour after hour. I thought if I rocked him, he wouldn't die like John. Peter could put his milk bottle on his knee and his hands were kept free.
When Peter died, my father cried, it was the second time I saw my father cry.
Both my brothers died of cystic fibrosis. In those days, there was no diagnosis for this disorder so they just called it something else. They blamed the mother when they couldn't understand something. My mother was never the same.
Sometimes I have a dream. My Dad is watching me and the brother's play in a field near our house. My son is also with us. My Dad is so proud.
I wish I was not afraid to die.