Little Heber Boy

What's wrong with my little Heber boy?

He's only eleven years old.

He's always weak and really pale,

But he's being really bold.

I guess he was just too tired,

when I sent him to gather beans.

Because when I found him there,

He was in the middle of his dreams.

I took him to the doctor,

to see if he could treat us.

What he told us wasn't good;

He said, "Sugar diabetes".

Phoebe's only a step mother,

but she loves Heber like a son.

"Three have already been taken from me,

must I lose another one?"

On the way home from the doctor's,

Phoebe cried in the wagon.

Everyone was depressed.

Even the horses feet were draggin'.

I didn't let myself cry,

but I knew I couldn't take much more.

He has sugar diabetes,

And for that there is no cure.

We told his brothers and sisters,

but didn't let Heber know.

He was still so young

I couldn't bear to watch him go.

For two months he was sick,

and spent all day in bed.

He was so exhausted,

he couldn't even lift his head.

I only have one comfort

as I watch my dear son die.

That is that his mother and sister

will greet him on the other side.

He played gently with baby Lucy,

And sang he a little song,

about a new pair of shoes

that the toes had tips on.

I had to go into town,

I couldn't take it anymore.

I ran into my friend George,

outside of his store.

He said if we ever needed help

just to give a holler.

He send home with me some copper toed boots,

and a shiny silver dollar.

Christmas came somehow that year

and we had more presents than ever.

But I hope that we never face

another one like that, never.

Heber got worse with every day.

It was so hard to see.

One night he said, with such sweet grace

"I guess now God wants me."

One day we thought it was over,

He closed his eyes and said goodbye.

But when he opened them again he said,

"I didn't make it, did I?"

The next day was when Heber died.

He went off with a nod.

It's finally over

and for this I thank God.

It's still so hard for all of us.

It's such a bitter pill.

We buried him next to his mother,

on top of a frozen hill.

What's wrong with my little Heber boy?

He's not acting the way he should.

He's with his mother in Heaven now

He'll be happy and healthy for good.

Written by Della Hugo. Inspired by the writings of Lafayette Guymon in his journal. Sept. 30, 1884 to Jan 22, 1885.