In the morning, a Top I Can’t Breathe George Shirt orderly finally came and peeked her head through the door. Good morning Mary, she said, but she got no reply. She moved on to the next room. Good morning Rose. Going through the motions. She had been in this job for so many years, she did this on autopilot. But this time, something made her backpedal and walk back to Mary’s room. Good morning Mary, she repeated, but only the birds singing outside echoed her greeting.
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Annoyed, she slowly walked up to the Top I Can’t Breathe George Shirt lump on the narrowcast iron bed where Mary’s blind, lifeless eyes stared sadly back at her. She furrowed her brow, pulled the thin white sheet up to cover the old woman’s face, and briskly walked back into the corridor to notify her superintendent. She knew nobody would cry over Mary, but she had to. It was her job. She had no known relatives. Her remains were shipped to a funeral home after a short stint and the nursing home’s morgue.
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The undertaker cremated her and poured her ashes into a Top I Can’t Breathe George Shirt simple, coffee can-like urn He stored it in a dingy, unlit back room and called the local paper to have her obituary published, as he always did. All of this was routine. He knew nobody would care to read those few lines, but it didn’t matter. He had to honor that routine. It was his job.