When husband's great aunt lay dying in hospital, one of the nurses told us to speak to her. She was on her way out and the staff kept calling her "Elizabeth". We corrected them by saying she went by Lee. Perhaps that was why she didn't hear them.
The nurse said, "Hearing is the last to go."
We talked to her, calling her Aunt Lee. She did sort of rouse, but she had no freakin' idea who we were as we hadn't seen her in a few years. But, we went because it was our duty and our desire to see her while she still breathed, thinking she might recognize him at least. Me, I doubted, but I was there.
I remember she didn't like garlic and she was a spectacular baker.
Now...where is this going?
Perhaps, nowhere, but the other morning, our first spring morning with the bedroom windows open, I heard a familiar, yet unfamiliar sound.
I distinctly heard the sound of an old fashioned wooden screen door closing.
That distinctive rickety old sound that I hadn't heard in so many years. Not since aluminum screen doors came along. All the people on our street converted to aluminum doors. Our front door had a C in some metal work for our last name.
Classy for late 1957.
So, where did this sound come from? Last time I think I heard a wooden screen shut was down the shore at one of the places we stayed at. I'm thinking Jack was a sophomore in high school. The summer he grew so tall.
That was a very long time ago. Yet, that sound came back to me a few days ago.
Is hearing the last thing to go?
Is this a portent?
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