You hear about people having a hard life. That was my aunt. Like many poor, Southern girls of her era, Aunt B. got married at 15. She had her first child at 16 and another one at 18. There was another one, too, in between, another boy, that died soon after birth. I remembered the day they buried that little baby, in a little country cemetary, up on a hill. It was raining and we children had to wait in the car while the grown-ups huddled under the umbrellas. And my aunt, only a girl herself, sobbed for the loss of her child.
Now there will be another funeral to go to.
Rest in peace, Aunt B.