Veta Roseta “Goddie” Picart: Single. Mother. Nurse. Believer. Born Jan. 11, 1929, in Portland, Jamaica; died Aug. 24, 2024, in Toronto, in her sleep; aged 95.
Veta PicartCourtesy of family
If Veta had a superhero cape, it would have been practical – probably waterproof, with pockets for extra tissues and a Bible. Born in Birnamwood, Portland Parish, Jamaica, her life was a saga of unwavering resilience, faith and humour. As the middle child in a family of nine, Veta, or Goddie, as she was known to family and friends, was orphaned by the age of 16. From that moment, she showed the world her superpowers: grit, faith and the ability to face life’s curveballs with a smile.
Veta was forced into a life of indentured servitude with an affluent family 40 kilometres from her rural home to pay for her school fees. To escape the harsh realities of this handmaiden role, she famously stole three chickens from her tormenting guardian, and sold them for bus fare. This bold move allowed her to venture from the countryside to Kingston and later, in 1956, to London aboard the SS Irpinia as part of the Windrush generation of Afro-Caribbean people who were invited to the U.K. to help rebuild postwar Britain. In London, she trained as a nurse, specializing in midwifery and psychiatry – healing others while also healing herself. Veta eventually moved to Toronto in 1965, where she would spend 40 years, mostly at the Doctors Hospital, establishing a remarkable nursing legacy.
But if you had asked Veta, she likely would have told you that her most significant accomplishment wasn’t her professional success – it was raising her twin boys, Richard and Robert, alone. A no-nonsense, shoes-polished, hold-your-head-high type of woman, Veta balanced long nursing shifts with ensuring her sons’ socks were always clean, their grades were high and their church attendance was impeccable. Church wasn’t optional – it was practically an Olympic event in their household, whether it was snowing or raining or the Mortimer 62 bus was late. They were going.
Along with faith, Veta knew the importance of family, pride and a good belly laugh. She gave her sons the kind of pride that made them stand tall, regardless of the circumstances. And she never shied away from hard truths like the emotional trauma of her husband leaving the family when the twins were three months old. If you didn’t know how to manage money before meeting Veta, you would have taken notes by the time you left. She was a wizard at stretching dollars and by the time her sons were old enough to remember, there was always a rainy-day fund tucked away. She often shipped packages back to family in Jamaica and Richard and Robert still laugh about sitting on barrels so she could stuff in one last bar of soap
A master of discipline, Veta didn’t spare the rod. However, a fresh bowl of ice cream was the reward they received for mowing the lawn in her beloved perennial rose garden, a place of healing and restoration.
Veta didn’t just teach her sons; she showed them that education never stops. She earned her driver’s license in her 50s and figured out how to use an iPad in her 90s. Her commitment to lifelong learning was a testament to the idea that age is just a number.
As time passed, Veta’s garden faded but her legacy flourished through her grandchildren: Kehla, Kiara, Malachi and Madison. Their bright futures have replaced the flowers she once nurtured.
In later years, Veta’s memory was sharp for the stories of yesteryear, even if she sometimes forgot the details of the day before. Like a Jamaican Alexa or Siri, she just needed you to speak a little louder. As her family reflects on the woman who never stopped learning or loving, they celebrate with the Jamaican expression: “Big up yourself.”
Richard Picart is Veta Picart’s son.
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