death

I was observing an old woman whose husband had been dead for some time. She lived in limbo between life and death, resigned to life being something that separated her from her love and must be waited out. She waited for death, wanting to be with him once again.
She had long grey hair that she tied in a knot at the back of her head and was wearing a simple blue and white cotton dress. I watched through the doorway of her bedroom as she straightened the blankets and sheets on her bed. The walls and floor were made from stone, the ceiling from thick wood. The doorway and windows were just open spaces left when building the house. Suddenly, there was a change in the feeling of the room, a shift of vibration, and a low rumbling sound. The old woman sensed it and knew it was her time. Jubilant, she threw off her dress, crying out to her husband that she was coming. She ran across the room toward the door as the ceiling caved in, falling heavily in a slab, on top of her. She died instantly.
I looked at what I could see of her jutting out from under the fallen ceiling and felt sad for her. I wished that her body could have remained in tact—old and beautiful—for her journey to meet her love.