Susan

"Well come in" she says.

Eyes glazed, bored, and food untouched,

"I miss my husband,

"My children,

"My house" she drawls.

All dead, all left, all alone

Just waiting to join them, but her body takes time to wither.

She can no longer walk;

Write;

Paint;

Play games;

Turn her favorite snow globe to watch the snow blow round.

Why must she hurt?

Why must her body wither?

Why must she lose all that she loves while she slowly loses herself?

There is no way to help her

Only hold her hand as she slips away.