We missed his funeral. We couldn’t go because there was a storm. The kind where you might get lost at sea.
Heartbroken, a few days later we finally made it to the island where Ubaldino was laid to rest. The children met us at the dock. We asked them if they knew where Ubaldino was.
They did.
I thought an old man or a mama would bring us to his grave. I thought maybe my good friend Salsa would walk us there.
But Salsa was nowhere to be seen.
We bought lollipops for the kids.
Hand in hand they took us to the end of the village where the chocolate trees grow and the parrots squawk unceremoniously in the trees.
As we approached the graveyard, one little girl pointed out the spot where her baby sister was buried. So much sadness in such a beautiful place.
We found the mound of earth where our poor orphan boy was buried. We stood with the children in silence. We put the last lollipop on Ubaldino’s grave.
Nothing else marked the pile of fresh soil.
The children understood. They each had their own lollipop and Ubaldino had is.
I wonder how long it will remain.