Poblete: Losing a child is unbearable, but we will make it count
Today, September 21, 2017, marks three years since my son, Robby, was taken from us in a senseless act of gun violence. Our family marked the first anniversary of his death by having a ceremony at his favorite beach in Hawaii. The somber sound of a conch shell began the ritual, during which each of us — cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers and sister — snapped our leis and scattered the plumerias into the transparent, turquoise waters.
The setting was beautiful. The pain, unbearable.
To mark the second anniversary last year, our family headed to Ocean Beach in San Francisco, where Robby spent many days surfing in much colder waters. One of the last pictures of him was taken as he was emerging from the ocean, surfboard in hand, wet suit glistening, his hair drenched and dripping. I stood there on that very beach on the second anniversary of his death picturing that image of him, wishing with all my heart that I could conjure it into reality. Instead, all our family could do was remember, honor and grieve him.
