The most important meal of the day...

The next morning I returned to Susan's home. When I arrived, she was still sleeping and looked much like she had the night before - eyes barely closed, mouth half opened. In front of her still body sat an untouched tray of breakfast food. I quietly took a seat to the side of her bed, whispering that I had returned and would sit with her for a while. I started to read while I listened to her less than audible breathing. I glanced up every once in a while when her breathing sounded exasperated and stared at her breakfast. I wondered how long the tray had been sitting there and whether she had even been awake to know that breakfast had been served. Her orange juice began to separate, and I imagined that the glass of milk would have tasted tepid.

I looked away from her tray and tried to focus my attention on other areas of the room. I noticed the Yahtzee game I brought her a few weeks before was in the corner on the dresser. The plastic wrap had been removed and someone had written her name on the box in permanent marker. We never had a chance to play, but I took comfort in the fact that someone must have opened it and possibly played a round with Susan. After an hour, Susan still had not woken up. I packed up my things, rubbed her arm, and whispered that I would be back to visit again shortly.

I went back home, but I could not get the image of Susan's stale breakfast out of my head. I know these details about Susan's separated orange juice and warm milk might seem extreme. Who would sit and stare at her breakfast for so long? Is this moment really meaningful at all? I thought about why I might have marked this moment as profound. I realized that although Susan was asleep, in a state which ordinarily might have seemed peaceful and calm, I found this moment to be eerie and painful. It was likely that Susan didn't even know anyone had delivered breakfast. If unaware, it was possible that Susan might die just like that - eyes barely closed, mouth half-opened, breakfast deconstructing in front of her lifeless body - like a scene you would watch on Six Feet Under and assume it was just a high dollar still shot. But here was Susan, in real life, dying in front of her untouched breakfast tray. And I mourned this moment for Susan and wondered if I could die in such a way.