My grandma died about seven months ago. I was thinking about her today--about how she was sometimes lonely and afraid during the last years of her life--and this extremely rough little scene (long sentence, really) came to mind. It's not about her so much as it is inspired by her. I'm not sure what, if anything, I'll do with it, but maybe someday I'll build a short story around it--or a poem:
An old woman sits alone in a dark living room, the glow from the television illuminating her face, the remote in her hand, clicking idly from channel to channel, life flashing by in bursts of color and sound, frightened, not knowing, not understanding--how did I end up this way?--forgotten and alone in days that pass by too quickly, in nights that linger too long.
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