I stopped by her room
and saw nothing different,
other than labored breath, and stiff body.
The doctor was on the phone,
ordering some meds.
Aides were going about
their usual after dinner routine.
Betty's roommate got swiftly changed
and put to bed.
The dimming light signaled another day,
ready to end.
I went home to have dinner with my friend.
We ate and talked and laughed.
One last check into work mail,
and I learned the news that Betty had passed.
The next day I stopped by her room,
and found no sign left of her,
other than two family pictures,
and her hospital bed, stripped of the old sheets,
and not yet remade.
A new family came to check available rooms.
They peeked in, and liked what they saw.
"It's so bright. Our mother would do well here."