A woman on the ward died in her sleep. I did not know her well.

It reminds us all that every day is never guaranteed.

I forget about death. I avoid thinking,speaking of that foreign terrifyin thing. Perhaps because I have been sheltered from it really. I pause to it when I must,then living happens. My southern folk were closer to death,sitting with the passed in the parlor,big funerals with caskets. I have seen masses but my family went for cremation. Death is not a natural part of my life. How can I have had a stroke and be in such denial that death awaits,and fear it at the same time remembering while stroking there was no fear. Only worry for those left. I felt peaceful. Why did I stay? I wonder if somehow I chose to?? I am still clinging to life. Yes, it would have been much easier, maybe nicer even if I had ridden that wave out on the tranquility of the stroking. I still marvel that I was aware and not concerned or afraid. Never did I accept there would be consequences. I hear that is typical. I do not wake forgetting like I used to.

I am curious about Death. Religious. Doubts too.my inner skeptic. My childlike faith.

I am a Scarlett. Think tomorrow.

Here I am surrounded by illness, old age, death. Yet I see high spirits,defiant for life. Mingling in loneliness, boredom,there is a furious clinging to humanity,identity,& self.

I heard a man yelling at someone telling them he is human. He is a mighty spirit.

People here have stories.great lives.now what can help preserve dignity is here. Life made more because Death stands close. But I ignore him mostly,caught up in daily things. Why acknowledge it. Maybe so I appreciate and savor all of this even the pain,the tough stuff because it is life. And I am still.