by K Ivey

Created on: January 05, 2009

Her name was Dot. Well, her name was Daisy Minerva Dorothea White but everyone had called her Dot ever since she could remember. She was a tiny woman about 5 feet tall and weighed almost a hundred pounds. She was beautiful in the way of some elderly women after their hair turns snow white and their features soften. The blue of her eyes, once vivid and clear now looked much more like reflections of a muted pastel sky.

She got out of bed early like she did every morning and went to the kitchen for breakfast. Breakfast (and often lunch or dinner) was a glass of buttermilk with leftover cornbread from last night's dinner. However, she welcomed variety and sometimes had a biscuit or a slice of wheat toast with her buttermilk.

After eating, she tried to read for a while from her super large print Bible using the magnifying lamp but finally gave up and just sat for a while thinking about the Psalms she had memorized years ago when she could still see the pages.

Dot had three living children and several grandchildren she sometimes believed were her only encouragement for staying here on earth. She often thought about her two adult sons who had died. First, Luke and many years later Jack. She thought it was utterly unjust and devastating that a parent should outlive their child under any circumstances but was thankful for the time she had spent with them and for the faith that helped her cope with loss.

Dot's oldest daughter, Elizabeth lived with her and generally speaking this situation worked for both of them. It was obvious they were close and usually hard to tell which one worried more about the other. Dot's son Gerald and daughter Francis visited often and made a point to spend as much time with her as possible. As families go, this one had its share of problems but also more than its share of love.

Dot's morning had begun like most others and it was time to wake Elizabeth for work. Elizabeth is not a morning person so it took some time for her to drink some coffee, go into the bathroom for a bath and to perform whatever wonders caused her to appear half an hour later looking lovely and not at all resembling the individual who originally staggered into the kitchen fumbling for a coffee mug.

After Elizabeth left for work, Dot bathed and went into her bedroom to find something to wear. She was so tired already, even though the day had barely started. She was eighty-nine and it seemed every simple task required more effort each day.

As she opened the closet, she spotted

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