Her face is still before me

Her face is still before me. Her face with that grayness surrounding it. She was a lonely old woman with suddenly nobody to care about her. She was a human being in pain, but nobody cared to see that pain. It meant nothing to them. Loneliness is too often given lip service, but nobody wants to talk about it. Nobody cares to acknowledge it. It's easier for one and all to pretend the problem doesn't exist, or that it doesn't exist for them. They have people in their lives, so there's nothing to worry about. But what about her? What was she to do about her situation? Where was she going to put her anger and her fear? She couldn't make it better by taking long walks. Not in her condition. And her dogs could not speak to her. They were her substitute family, but they could only bark and need her to take care of them. So she remembered the past. That helped her a little, but when she woke up from her daydreams, the past was gone. She was faced again with an impossible present. What to do when everything had gone wrong so quickly? What to do with herself when she dared to look at her despair in the eye? What answer could it give her?