Upon learning that my four-year-old son Richard, has cystic fibrosis, I was in shock, then I mourned. Finally I became furious and fought back. Franticly every night I would call everywhere looking for help; there was none. One night after several long and agonizing phone calls pleading for help, Richard came into the room and said, "Mommy I know who you work for." With some trepidation I posed the question back to him, "who, Richard?" "sixty-five roses," he said with a smile. I went to him and tenderly pressed his tiny body to mine, so he couldn't see the tears running down my cheeks. I was amazed since I had never told him that he had advanced liver cancer. Then as I hugged him, I realized he couldn't pronounce cystic fibrosis, now every time, for the past thirty-eight years, as I visit Richard, I smile and cry as I gaze on a seven-year-old's gravestone that reads "sixty-five roses." Richard, it has been thirty-eight years Tthat's why we placed "Sixty-five roses" on your grave today then got on our knees and silently prayed, no, not for you our sweetie for we know "you're" safe in heaven but for us whose hearts have never mended. We want to thank you Richard and need to apologize, we stood by your grave today and told you our reasons why. "Sixty-five roses" lay beautifully on your grave to signify the illness that took your life away. We always knew this was the place where in your youth you'd lay and all we asked and wanted was for it to be maintained. Many people loved you and many heard our plea, for each time we come to visit we find things placed anonymously: "Sixty-five roses" we placed there today "sixty-five roses" is what took you away. The children are so young that they are unable to pronounce cystic fibrosis, so say "sixty-five roses" – This moved us, enough to support us to finding a cure and tell you about the disease our little boy heard as "sixty-five roses" – cystic fibrosis. easy to say as "sixty-five roses", difficult to cure as 'cystic fibrosis'....