In the fall of 2003, I was pregnant with my second child. My daughter being 20 months old had really started to talk and repeat herself a lot recently. So when she started saying, “hi Bobby… hi Bobby… hi Bobby,” while walking around the house we didn’t think it was weird even though no one in our immediate family has this name.
My husband worked long hours so when he came home we ate dinner and put our daughter to bed and I talked him into watching a late night movie. We lived in a tiny little two bedroom apartment sort of in a bad neighborhood but we were really proud of how we had fixed it up. We had just started the movie when we heard what sounded like to me a loud crash. Us living in this not so great neighborhood, my immediate fear was someone was breaking in. We did live on the first also.
We obviously went to my daughters room first. Her room was decorated sweetly in angels and cherubs. She had this sort of large portrait of an angel holding the hand of a child. This picture was held on the wall by two nails. Now I know you will probably think I am exaggerating or maybe even making this up. I AM NOT. I would not waste MY time. This picture was just swinging on the wall. We kind of stood there in shock and relief that no one was trying to break in. But the picture kept swinging and then flew across the room and landed on the floor. It did not break. It was the scariest thing that I had ever witnessed.
A couple months went by and I visited my grandma on my dads side. My grandfather died when my dad was just eighteen and was in New York in basic training for the Air Force. I never met him and she had been remarried for almost twenty years. I told her the story about what happened with my daughter. She looked at me and said, “Your grandfathers name was Robert.” I said, “I know grandma,” and she said “and we all called him Bobby”…