It’s the middle of November and I’m trudging through three feet of snow because, much to my dismay, bodies don’t just bury themselves.

Now before you get your panties in a twist, let me explain…

10 years ago, I was 14 years old and America was in the midst of civil war. My older brother and father were sent away to fight, for freedom of course. I was left behind, I was a “girl” and wasn’t allowed to fight, but I wanted to be useful.

One day I’m sitting beneath the weeping willow in our front yard, my mom rocking on a nearly broken chair, staring into space. I sigh and wait for the messenger to come for the week, staring down the road with no idea of what’s to come.

Finally I hear the trod of a horse and jump up with a smile…it wouldn’t last long.

I run to the messenger and give him my name my moms name and my brother and fathers name to see if we had letters from them.

The messenger smiled and handed me two envelopes, which is weird because normally we only get one. I thank the messenger and run to my mom who is standing up with a smile. I look at her and try to remember the last time her smile reached her eyes, I shrug it off when no recollection comes.

My mom takes the letters and opens them, I watch her face, and I watch her eyes grow heavy, and I watched her soul go.

“Mother! Mother! What is it?” I ask, confused, I was still young and didn’t understand loss.

“Sweetheart, your brother and father are gone….” My mother says weakly. I look at her confused not comprehending and say “yes mother I know they are gone, they left to war a year ago?” My mother looks at me sadly then walks inside leaving me alone and confused.

I finally understand what she means, and my heart shatters. I think of the time my brother taught me how to wittle sticks, and when my knife slipped and I cut myself, he helped me feel better and took care of me.

My father teaching me to hunt, although it wasn’t girlish, he said any good woman should know how to survive.

Then, well I ran away, I cut my hair off, wore over size clothing and a hat, disguised myself as a boy best I could. Then I ran away, I followed the sound of gunshots, until I came to a battlefield. It was burnt and broken, but in it’s destruction I saw myself. A withered rose and a dying flame, a reflection of my soul it became. I walk across the desolate plain, and found bloody remains. I look into the empty eyes, staring off to distant skies. I thought to myself “these men died for a cause and were left here, to rot.” So then I started digging holes, using my blood sweat and tears, to keep going in hard times. I buried many bodies, and I prayed for everyone. I never knew what happened to my brother and my father, but in their honor I respected their fellow soldiers. A few years later, I’m now 17, I get a news letter that my mother grew deathly ill. I run back home, my hair still short, and still dressed as a soldier boy. I ran to my mothers bed and kneeled at her side, she was nearly blind. She looked at me eyes wide, and said. “My dear boy, how are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be dead and gone.” I looked at her faint eyes knowing that I was running on non existent time. I sigh and say “mother dear I’m not your boy, I’m your daughter, and I love you”.

She looks at me her old eyes widen, then she smiles and looks directly into my eyes and faintly whispers “your eyes are like an angels my dear”. Then her life faded fast and her hand went limp in mine. Tears spring into my eyes as I stand up and look down at her, with nothing left I had nothing to lose. So I kissed her head and had her buried under the weeping willow, her grave was just some words etched on that old chair. Then I went away again an traveled to a town far away. I went in a bar blending in as a soldier boy and sat down ordering some whiskey. I took a sip and a pale man I’d say around 19 sat beside me, I look at him as I take a drink and wait for him to speak. Then he says in a lighthearted voice “where do you come from, your not from here.” I chuckle and say “you ain’t from these parts either, look like you just came from the North Pole”. He laughs, a genuine sound and explains “I come from up north, part of Russia, but I’ve came to America to see the sights and live the life” I look at him thoughtfully and reply “that’s interesting, you seem like a fine young man, I come from Pennsylvania, a might sight to see”. We laugh together and he figures out I’m not a boy but a young lady but in my travels he stayed near. The civil war finally ended, but I had nothing for me back at home, so I went with the man who’s name was Eliot, and I went to his home in New York. There we lived and I found a job cremating and burying bodies. He found it creepy but always joked, and a few years later I’m 23, and he proposed to me, we got married, and here I am at 24. Carrying a body through the graveyard, to a hole dug out, 6 feet deep, and a family depending on me.

Just Remember not to worry, it’s just my job, I’m not a murder or anything if the sort. Just a girl