The Barretts: A Short Story

Decent Essays
My mama had told me that the ground needed to settle in for some time before they could set up the stone or it risked toppling over as the dirt shifted and settled beneath it. But judging by the wear-and-tear on the other stones in the cemetery—especially us Barretts—I would’ve said the greatest threat came primarily from people vandalizing the stones, not the ground re-solidifying making them unstable. “How had grandma even died?” I asked Mama having realized just then that she’d never mentioned to me what had happened to her. “I mean, she was pretty young, only fifty-four, and looked pretty healthy in those pictures I saw of her back at the house,” I then added. “I really don’t know,” my mama told me sounding plaintive, and I thought
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