When Granny, in the wanderings of her mind, thinks she is still a young wife and mother, the hard work Granny is accustomed to doing on a daily basis, even while resting, comes through, "there was always so much to be done, let me see: tomorrow," thinks Granny. Even now Granny takes pride in the neatness of her home, as she lies there, although she worries about the lost, resting love letters, stashed away fearing about being seen as silly, when individuals go over her personal possessions after she is gone.

Granny thus accepts her eventual death, even while she worries about the arrangement of the hairbrushes on the bedside table. She had expected to die at age sixty, now she is eighty. She "had spent so much time preparing for death there was no need for bringing it up again." But Granny wishes to control how she is remembered....
[ View Full Essay]