Aunt Bert's Bird

The email said: Meg. Please come home. Aunt Bert.

Meg knew her aunt was going to die soon. She knew her mother would leave it up to her to arrange a service or reception for the few people who might show up to pay their last respects to Aunt Bert. She did not know that she was going to inherit Kit.

Aunt Bert, now eighty-one, was a tough woman with a tendency to yell and scare off any potential visitors, neighbors, or townspeople who had the nerve to approach her for any reason. Grumpy Ol’ Bert, as the people of Jefferson City, Misouri, called her for many years, was at her life’s end and still just as cranky as ever.

Bertha Agnes Grasso was her full name, and she adored her cockatoo more than anything. Her bird was her favorite being of all others, including Meg. But she loved Meg, too, in her own way. Unlike Aunt Bert, the bird was cuddly and sweet, with expressions that made you feel welcome. Kit, the name Aunt Bert gave him, was a large, confident Moluccan cockatoo with a daily regimen that included specific eating times, lots of conversation, sunlight, and affection, as well as regular grooming.

Meg was grateful for Kit, as the bird was a pleasant distraction from her aunt’s often intolerable demeanor, which caused tension between them, between everyone. Aunt Bert was Meg’s mother’s aunt, making her Meg’s great-aunt. Meg and her mother had lived with Aunt Bert off and on during her childhood because of different circumstances, such as when her father died and Meg’s mom could not afford rent and a babysitter while working as a hotel clerk. Aunt Bert always, but outwardly grudgingly, made space for Meg and her mom to come stay until her mom made a way for them to move out again.

Kit became a noble companion over the years, not only for Aunt Bert but for Meg, too. Many days and evenings, Kit was Meg’s only playmate. Kit, a well-worded chatterbox, and Meg were two peas in a pod for mimicking each other. Both loved playing games, tricking each other with sounds that imitated outsiders, and other activities involving shared presence.

Throughout her early childhood, when times became unstable and Meg was unsure of herself and others, Kit’s natural friendship and bonding abilities provided her with a sense of security. Even Aunt Bert, as cantankerous and irritable as she was, was a source of stability for Meg. When Meg’s mom found a new job and a new man from Doyle, California, nearly 1500 miles from Aunt Bert’s home, they moved again. Meg had not seen her great-aunt or best friend Kit for over a decade. 

Meg missed Kit, Jefferson City, and even Aunt Bert miserably for several years after their move out West. She finished high school and became certified as a veterinary assistant. Meg’s love for animals and creatures of all kinds paved the way for her reasonably happy standard of living. Working in a field that gave her a deep sense of purpose was the only path right for Meg. The veterinarian she had been working with treated all kinds of animals of all sizes and ailments. The clinic doors welcomed every sort of pet, farm animal, and even birds.

Birds always made her think of Kit.

After the email from Aunt Bert came, Meg agreed to go back to Jefferson City. The clinic would be okay without her for a few weeks until she fulfilled her aunt’s last wishes leading up to her death.

Meg’s mom had already informed her of Aunt Bert’s congestive heart failure and that she had entered the last stage with palliative care. Somehow, Meg’s mom always knew what was going on with Aunt Bert and the small town she grew up in and would keep her posted over the years. Her mom’s stories and updates always tugged at her heartstrings, even years later. Aside from her mom and Dillan, her mom’s husband, Aunt Bert and Kit were her only genuine family. Dillan never fully reached father-figure in her life, had family elsewhere, but Meg never met them. It was her understanding that they moved to the Old West to rid themselves of those “mountaineers.”

Meg’s decision to go back to Missouri to tend to Aunt Bert’s last wishes and arrangements flooded her heart with memories and emotions that she had buried for resilience-building and a learned defense against life. She started feeling guilty for not staying in touch as she should, especially since her aunt had done so much for her throughout her childhood. 

Meg thought how her childhood could have been so different had it not been for Grumpy Ol’ Bert stepping in to take care of her and her mom many times. She also thought of the friend she didn’t say goodbye to back when her mom moved her to California. She kicked herself in the heart for leaving her best friend, Kit, without so much as a thank you or I love you.

Meg carried the love and gratefulness of Aunt Bert and Kit silently through the years. She still loved them dearly. And they were never far from her thoughts and heart.

Back in Missouri and willing to make amends for lost time, Meg immediately started taking notes and directives from her aunt. The instructions were simple, nothing fancy or overblown. Aunt Bert wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread across her property, the land her father had developed when she was a child. She wanted a quick ceremonial brunch to include Meg, her mom, the local pastor, and a few others she had handpicked. This was a blessing because Meg did not believe she could gather many more to come to Aunt Bert’s memorial. 

Aunt Bert’s most important demand was that Meg become heir to Kit.

The idea of caring for Kit did not occur to Meg before her aunt’s dying wish became apparent. Somehow, Meg thought her aunt had that all figured out—all figured out without including her as Kit’s caregiver for the remainder of his life, or Meg’s life.

Aunt Bert informed Meg that Kit was only forty-three years old and therefore had many more years left to live. Ten to thirty more years of life left in him! Maybe even more! The responsibility seemed huge and overwhelming to Meg. Kit needed lots of attention and dedication to ensure his next several decades would be well-lived. Meg doubted managing the care Kit deserved while living in her small loft, over a half-hour away from her job—a job that involved long hours to receive the pay she needed to be independent and on her own.

Many feelings and uncertainties arose in Meg as she watched her aunt’s decline speed up. Aunt Bert was leaving her most precious thing in her life to Meg. For Meg to become Kit’s caregiver for the remainder of his life. Sounded like forever to Meg. Felt like forever.

At Aunt Bert’s short memorial, per her request, the pastor read the will of her aunt. The will stated her aunt’s house and property now belonged to Kit. The Moluccan cockatoo had inherited his owner’s estate. As long as Kit was alive, Aunt Bert’s property could not be on the market for sale. Aunt Bert’s house, land, and all other assets were not to be removed from the estate as long as Kit remained alive.

The will did not forbid removing Kit from the home. According to the pastor, Kit could indeed go to California to be taken care of; a decision Meg’s aunt left for her to make. Meg had to decide if she was to return to her life in California alone, or with a very spoiled, but grand, bird. If she decided to take Kit out west with her, the pastor would assume control over her aunt’s estate until Kit’s death. Of course, Meg would allocate some expenses as the caregiver of Kit.

Meg struggled with making the right decision for herself and for Kit. Her mom offered no support, and immediately after reading the will, she left Jefferson City and returned to Doyle with Dillan.

Now what, Meg thought. How will she care for Kit in the way he deserved, and how will she ever return to her regular life that she worked so hard to build for herself—a life of stability? How would she continue to nurture herself and grow roots when her life was so different from before?

Meg washed her aunt’s bed linens and the last of the clothes in the hamper near where she had laid them during her last days. As she opened the drawer of her aunt’s bed stand, Meg found items and pictures carefully tucked away. The pictures were of Meg throughout the years of her life, including the years after her mom moved her far away from her aunt. Meg found clippings from school articles and a copy of her veterinary certificate. Meg discovered letters her mom had written to Aunt Bert, obviously in response to Aunt Bert’s letters regarding Meg. There were receipts showing monetary support for Meg and her mom throughout the years.

Meg cried. She cried for her aunt, she cried for Kit, and she cried for herself. Meg finally realized that her aunt had already established roots for her years ago. Aunt Bert and Kit are her roots. She did not need to return to California; she was already home. She was Kit’s family. For the first time in a long time, Meg knew who she was. She was and always will be the proud niece of Bertha Agnes Grasso. And Kit, Kit was not just a bird she inherited; he is the grand Molucca cockatoo who saved her from loneliness and despair during her young childhood.

Kit, as Meg was to Aunt Bert, was something she had a deep sense of stewardship for caring for, and she wanted to be his guardian.

After her phone call to the clinic back in Doyle, informing the veterinarian of her choice to stay in Jefferson City and take care of Kit at her aunt’s estate, Meg felt a sense of home unlike ever before. Her former employer will arrange for her work and personal things to be sent to her.

With Kit resting on her lap as he once did in her childhood, she knew she had made the right choice for Kit and for herself. Their family bond picked up right where they left off before her mom took her to live in California. Meg and Kit were family and, more importantly, they loved each other.

“It’s good to be home,” said Meg.

“It’s good to be home,” said Kit.