This was taken of my mother, Vicky, about 61 years ago. Mom and Dad had a son born to them just a few weeks earlier. His name was Danny Eugene. A "perfect" baby ... he died during delivery due to medical error. A heart breaker indeed. Mom would tell of how Dad gave her a "barn calf" to care for. She named him Spunky. I can still hear her tell the story... of how she liked playing with the calves, but then Spunky died, too. A hurting heart is not always evident from a distance. I am the oldest son, but I am the second born. I heard the hurt in Mom's voice over the years as she would tell this story, I saw the pain in Dad's eyes as he would look upon the black and white wallet sized photo, which he carried till his final day, of Danny Eugene. There was no bitterness, but there was hurt. My folks continue to be an inspiration and an example to me. May I be sensitive to the hurting hearts around me... that is my prayer today.
And yes, Robin and I chose to name our oldest son... Danny