She looks great.
That is part of the trouble, I expect, that looking great thing.
She sits in her own home, where she has lived since retirement.
Her husband died long ago but she feels they had a good run.
She took up gardening and painting and needlework and she has examples of her fine workmanship all around. Today, however, the biggest challenge is just staying motivated to be alive.
Old age can be very cruel.
It takes the things we cherish.
Possibly this is God's way of getting us to let go of the life we love above all.
It sure works, at any case.
She can't hold or wringe out a facecloth.
She can't turn a doorknob, or a radio button.
She cannot sew, cook, clean, or do any sort of art.
I can help, but just in the moment.
After I leave, she has the entire day to fill.
"They loom before me, every second hangs on for so long."
That temporal mystery again.
I do recall feeling the same way after my head injury.
For me, it was gazing into an endless hall of mirrors, seeing reflections and reflections of reflections...
It was hell. If I had to stare down infinity every day still, I would have long ago gone to meet it voluntarily.
Yet here is the opposite problem. And yet so very familiar.
Time hanging.
