WE had Betsy’s Burritos last night for dinner. They were delicious.
You won’t find a recipe for Betsy’s Burritos unless you ask Betsy herself.
Betsy Burritos were made for my family by my dear friend Betsy during the week right after my step-dad passed away.
We had many wonderful meals prepared for us by compassionate friends during this week of pain and sorrow and all were very special to us, but my kids absolute favorite was “Betsy’s Burritos.”
Later, they were to become a favorite of all of ours because of the love that went into them.
Shortly after my dad died, Princess was in a terrible accident, breaking her wrist and losing the sight in her left eye. As soon as we discovered her blindness we rushed Princess to a specialist named Dr. Diana Reeves.
Her advice was to treat the eye aggressively in hopes that some of her sight would come back, although the out look was not good. “You have nothing to lose at this point.” she informed us.
Treating the eye aggressively involved injecting the wounded eye with a steroid. Princess had to be awake and alert.
Five stinging drops preceded the injection, one at a time to numb, sterilize and prepare the eye.
Dr. Reeves was patient. She explained each step to a very distraught and sobbing 6 year old.
She did not force us to restrain Princess while she did the procedure, she simply explained and waited until Princess complied with each step. Carl held and soothed her and I promised her a vast span of treats and presents, even at one time promising to purchase Princess a pony.
Princess slowly allow each step.
What should have taken 10 minutes took 2 hours. Finally the whole horrid procedure was over. We gathered Princess to us, thanked the Dr and went out into the fading light of the evening.
“Princess,” I said trying to make my strained voice sound cheerful although inside I was weeping. “Do you want a hamburger for dinner.” “ No’ she said between sobs.
“Ice cream?, chicken nuggets,? anything you want honey,” I tried again.
“I“, sob, sob, “want” sob, “Betsy’s Burritos.” she stated
Betsy’s burritos? I thought, I remembered receiving the compassionated meal during our sorrow week but my emotions were so overwhelming, I don’t remember tasting anything. I couldn’t have told you what was in Betsy’s Burritos, and I was too distraught to call her.
The ride home was awful. I drove, Carl sat by Princess in the back seat rubbing her head. She eventually fell into an exhausted restless slumber sagging against him, with occasional sobby hiccups. I could see the strain on my husband’s face, I could tell this experience aged him the 20 years it had aged me. Our baby’s raw fear, hopeless case, pain, every inch of is was written in the creases of worry on his face. The tears I stuffed down during the procedure erupted in a torrent of sobs from my soul spilling over and soaking my shirt.
When we got home, we put Princess in front of a movie in our room and I went to work making Betsy’s burritos. My dad was there and so was my mom both as devastated as we were, especially since Princess refused to see them, too embarrassed of the patch the Dr had put on her eye.
They went home, my mom to a home without her husband and my dad to his caring wife.
The most amazing thing happened, after Princess rested and ate Betsy’s Burritos ( or my poor rendition of them) Princess was up singing and dancing like nothing ever happened. Carl and I sank to the couch in exhausted relief.
The next day I call my dear friend Betsy and told her about Princess’s request for her burritos. She was surprised stating there was really nothing very special about them. I disagreed. My daughter loved them, they were delivered during our time of need with love and compassion. They were very special to us. Later that day she delivered a bag of them, each individually wrapped, and frozen. “incase you need them again you can take them out as you need.’ My heart was so moved. She told me how she makes them and now when I have moments when I need some comfort food, I whip up Betsy’s burritos and remember the love my friend put into them for us.
