In English class yesterday we had an assignment to pick a random sentence out of the middle of a book... then we had an hour to spin some sort of something off of it.

I picked up "The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara Kingslover

My sentence was:
________

In spite of myself I have loved the world a little, and may lose it. I’ve found that I put too much weight in the ‘fact’ that I don’t care that now that I do, care, that is, it is too late to change the misconception I so forcefully put forth unto others and unto myself.

My life was full, I would be a liar to try and convince you otherwise. I saw France, I did the Tango, and I can honestly say that ‘I ate the whole thing’. Full, yes. Full of what, however, I believe I’ve changed my mind on. Thinking back on it now, I should have been the person I looked down on up until now.

I now envy the woman who lived next door. I can scarcely remember times that her belly was not round. Watching through my window I used to frown at the children crowded around her feet, waiting for their turn for ‘Mommy’ to pick them up. A fool was I! I have never had a child desire to perch themselves on my hip, more likely they have wanted to see me come to this end much sooner then I, in fact, have met it.

Once, just the one time, I gave candy to a child who cried in the park. I was engrossed in a crossword and his crying was disturbing. I gave him the candy in hopes it would occupy his mouth, thereby rendering it too busy to make a fuss. I hope now, that this child may remember this as kindness, remaining ignorant to my motives. I hope that at least to that solitary child, in opposition to the many I have surely put off to old women such as myself, will remember the old woman who was once kind, and see my face.

This shrew, this bag of wasted skin and bone and time and even a name, is about to embark on the journey to the end. If I go with even one regret, I go with one more than I would have had before today; and how I wish it were only one!

I always thought of my death as impending, I never considered that it could already be underway. Now that I know it is upon me I wish I had the time or the energy even, to make the effort to rectify this life I have lead. I wish that on my first day in this place, instead of hollering, and objecting, and throwing the food they gave me, that I had been still, and cooperative.

----

I try to smile when the nurse comes to see me. Hopefully it isn’t too late just for one smile. I hope that the pain I am in doesn’t turn it to a grimace or a snarl, the way I have oft presented myself in the past.

“How are we today Ms. Stewart?” she asks while reaching for the clipboard at my footboard.

I continue my attempts at a smile and hope she understands.

“Would you like some cream for your hands? The air is awfully dry in here.”

I do not answer her, besides the fact I find myself unable to do so these days, I know she will provide whether I answer or not.

She situates herself in the chair beside my bed while she puts some lotion into her palm. I contemplate the fact that the chair she sits in has been vacant, save for the times she has treated me to this, since I began my stay here. I wonder if that young child, the one from the park, would have come, had he known the state of things.

“It snowed today,” she tells me “almost three inches”.

I used to loath the snow. I find that now, however, I am saddened by the fact that I will never look on it again. Nor rain, I realize. Nor rain.

She is almost finished conditioning my hands now. I know, because it is the same regardless of the day, or the color of her nail lacquer. She takes my left hand in hers, and gently massages the cream into my skin, always the left hand first. Then she will put more cream into her palm, and repeat her process on the right.

She has had my right hand now for some time. I wish there was something, and maybe there is, that I could do. I muster the last vestiges of my strength and squeeze her hand before she has the chance to withdraw it. The pain I feel almost makes me stop the application.

“I know, Love. I know.” She says as she runs her unoccupied hand soothingly over the baldness of my head.

Ultimately, the pain wins, my grip weakens, and her hand escapes me. It is about this time that she should be leaving, I know. Instead, she pulls her seat up closer to me, and rests her head at my side. I can feel a tear roll out of my eye and I thank whatever Gods there may be that I have time for at least that.
________

The bit about the hand cream was inspired by a similar scene in the Movie "Wit" starring Emma Thompson.