Byron

'Size matters', the midwife said, he weighed two pounds or less, about the size of a big chunk of butter freshly churned that day. 'No chance at all'- the local quack- and packed his leather bag and left, it was in 1921, a preemie was, in many ways condemned to die. The cows were calling to be milked, and chores were waiting, life demanded, they left him there with Mrs. Puller with quiet hopes that death would come with swiftness, kindness and with silence, it would be hard to witness it for both, and mucking out the barn, it could not wait, when life is tough the tough go on to live as if those little interruptions were expected and so it was when Mrs. Puller called them, 'I think he may, with God's good grace, pull through and live, my hopes have been revived.' And Byron lived until the morning of Thanksgiving of 1991, and he had given to this world four kids, each one was heavy, well above eight pounds for me, it's pleasant when a kind of justice wins.