Advice Needed on Poot Story

I have something on my mind, and I need help. Maybe you can advise me. It's about a Poot story and how I should write it. Recently, I sat down at the computer and created a file of a whole bunch of Poot stories I need to write. The one I'm about to tell you did not make the list.

This Poot story wasn't on the list because it didn't involve us having "fun." Not only that, but I've lost all the details. Maybe I lost the details because it wasn't "fun" so it wasn't something I have thought about a lot thus keeping the memory vivid. I have thought about it from time to time, but not too often because it always makes me sad when I do. I'm sad now. I just shed a few tears.

My basic question is: should I make up the details or just tell the story? Let me give you the simple story, what I remember, and you tell me how I should write it.

Me n Poot went to the hospital. I think this was the only time, until I got grown, that I ever went up there to visit anybody. I think. One of the details I have lost is who we were going to visit. It was a boy from school, but that is all I can recall. Who he was or why he was there is lost to me now. I don't even remember how old we were but my guess is twelve or thirteen.

In those days, you had to go by a Visitor's Desk and get a room tag to make visits. They gave you a tag, like a name tag, that you clipped to your shirt. So we got our tag, went to floor whatever, and knocked on a hospital door.

"Come in," a woman's voice from inside the room invited.

We didn't think anything about a woman's voice because boys have mothers, hospitals have nurses, and patients have visitors. So we went inside and it must have took us a half second to realize we had gone into the wrong room. But the odd thing was, we knew this woman. She was the mom of another boy, Timmy Hun, who went to our school.

We must have looked like two angels coming through the door because I swear she lit up like a Christmas tree when she seen us. I remember feeling very odd as we stood at the side of her bed, and she smiled and talked and laughed. 

Then everything went quiet. She seen Poot's room tag, and I think she even reached out and touched it. All the light left her face. We didn't know what to say. She spoke for us.

"He's next door," she mumbled and rolled over in her bed turning her back to us. We slinked out of the room like dogs with our tails between our legs who had just got whupped for turning over a garbage can.

I don't even remember visiting the boy we went up there to see that day. I do remember Poot asking me a few days later what I had learned. I said I learned not to go into the wrong hospital room. Check the room number before you knock on the door. Poot called me a dumb dickhead, and said he learned that old folks like attention. I didn't get it at the time.

Whenever I think back about that, about that day in Timmy Hun's momma's hospital room, I get very sad and sometimes I cry. The thing is so much of what me n Poot done we was trying to be bad, trying to be as bad as we could. But that day we wasn't trying to do nothin wrong. We just wanted to visit our friend.

To make it all even worse and the reason this is on my mind now is last night I found Timmy Hun on Facebook. Or I found his wife to be exact. But when I seen the picture of the two of them, Timmy and his wife, I recognized Timmy right off even though it had been about forty-five years since I seen him last.

So I sent her a message and asked if that was Timmy Hun in her profile pic. She responded that yes that was indeed Timmy and was I the one who . . . ? That's how I knew Timmy was there and telling her what to ask me. Then I asked about Timmy's mom and the conversation ended.

I did it again.

I wasn't trying to be bad but trying to be nice, and now I have apparently hurt someone's feelings once more.

So I am crying in my coffee and wondering about a bunch of stuff. Luvie is on the bed with me, and he is being sweet. He seems to know I am sad, and his affection makes me feel better. My wife sometimes gets mad at the cats and says they are bad, but they are just like me n Poot used to be and just want to have fun. 

And sometimes they just want to be sweet and rub up on something because they want to love and they accidentally knock something over and break it.