She opens her eyes
She smiles and looks at the clock
Her left hand reaches out
It touches cold sheets

Her smile becomes frozen
Her hazy vision focuses
She sees the ceiling fan rotating
Round and round and round and round
The machinery never ceasing

She notices the sunbeams
Casting light into the room
She follows it’s rays
Onto the left side of the bed

The king sized bed
Sheets half made
One side warm
The other cold

Her fingers come tightly together
As she looks to her left
Her snowy hair delicately strewn

Her eyes well with tears
The silent streams blur her vision
She looks back at the ceiling fan
And blinks away the salty sadness

She lies for a moment
Watching the machine
Continue… going
Round and round and round and round

Gathering her strength
Then suddenly
She swings her legs over the side
And sits up in one fluid motion

She looks at her feet
Old and swollen

She directs her gaze upward
To the wall in front of her

A bookcase stands
Meeting a wall-bound case of trinkets
Pictures and models of memories sit
Carefully placed on the shelf

She stares at the collage of her life
Then at the blank wall behind it

She stares at the paint
It’s been there so long

She hears the whir of the fan
Going round and round and round

She feels the cold air being blown
Onto her thin, bony shoulders
She stares at the blank, white wall

She hears the clicking of her old dog
Trodding down the hall
As it comes to announce its needs

The dog comes in and sits at her feet
It looks expectantly at her
She doesn’t look at it
She looks at the wall

She stares and stares
Then looks at the clock once more
Only seven minutes have passed
But it feels like an eternity

The dog whines
And pushes its nose under her hand

She looks it in the eyes
She sees it’s pain
And she understands it

She stands to go let the dog out
Her bones creak to remind her:
She is old, and unlike the machinery in her ceiling
No oil can fix her pain
No nut and bolt can add to her purpose
No loosened screws can unload her sadness

Her pain is hers to bear
For she is an old woman
With a good life lived and loved

But now she tiredly watches time go by
Laying in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin

Waiting… dreading the day
She will no longer hear the clicking
Of her dog coming to greet her
With a wagging tail and cloudy eyes

Dreading the day that silence will reign
Except for the whir of the ceiling fan

Dreading the day she will be truly alone