Burt
by Ingrid B.
Burt:
Burt wasn’t the prettiest baby. Even though she looked just like your typical Pillsbury doughboy babe. Daddy was always making messes and Mama was always cleaning up after him. Next came her two younger brothers. Neither of them cared for her much (for obvious reasons). She never cried. Not when she was hurt, or scared, or just down right annoyed.
At the age of seven, Mama passed away. She didn’t cry. Daddy took to drinking after he came home from the fields. The two younger boys were well… boys. So that left Burt to do all the work of a mother: make meals, make clothes, clean
up Daddy’s messes. But not a tear fell from her eyes as she scrubbed
the floors and mended the holes in all of the clothing before her
homework was finished.
Now 18, Burt
has grown into a beautiful young woman. She has found a husband who
suits her very well. When it was time for her to move out of their
little old farmhouse, she didn’t cry. This just meant that her future
was going to get better from here.
In her old age, Burt was gifted a massive white dog from her two sons and her daughters who visited her often. When Burt was 83, the dog passed away. A few days later, so did Burt. I remember my grandma telling me that the dog died first so that she could meet Great Grandma Burt in heaven. In honor of her strength, no one cried. No one mourned over her death. They celebrated the fact that she was in a better place now. She was with her mother and now they both wouldn’t have to work too hard anymore.
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