Warming by the wood cook stove I waited for the coffee to perk. The percolator was a welcome sound that ushered in the day while I made plans.
These knotty fingers have sewn quilts and stitched up wounds. They have birthed babies and spanked children when it was the common practice. They have milked cows and have made biscuits all without a thought of them ever failing me.
Pulling my shawl around me and the chair closer to the fire I listened to the rhythmic sound of the coffee pot. Billy Jo, bless her heart, had brought an electric coffee pot. It still sat in its box unopened. No reason to use it since there was only me.
Husband gone this past winter, two children passed before the age of reason. Just me now in this old house that had been so full of life years past. This is where my marriage bed was. I did my duties for my husband all these years. Tried to bear and raise my young ones, tried to a good wife and mother. Here in later years the grands used to gather around this old chair eager for my words and stories.
They have their own lives now and it's just me and The Duke who warms by the fire with me every winter morning.
Most of my friends have already passed. That's the sad thing about aging; the people you know begin to die off.
The coffee finally perked to perfection I poured a cup, black as I always take it, holding it in both hands for the warmth as the coffee cooled. The tin cup that belonged to my mother's mother not only warmed my hands but also warmed my heart.
I continued to sit, rocking a little, smiling at old thoughts of passed times.
I patted the old dog. He woke when I said, "It's just you and me." The dog looked at me a moment and laid his head onto his paws to rest.
My grandson would be coming soon to take me to get some "staples" I needed.
I smiled, closed my eyes and rocked in the warmth of the past.
The grandson arrived. The smoke rising from the chimney caused his own memories to come to life as he walked toward the house to greet his grandmother.
The dog whined then howled as he reached the door. This was odd behavior even for The Duke. When the knock and shout went unanswered the middle-aged grandson opened the door.
He found her in the rocking chair pulled up close to the fire. Her favorite coffee cup laid spilled beside her.
When The Duke howled again, the grandson knew the matriarch was gone. Still warm in her chair she sat as always with a smile on her face that said the journey home had been a peaceful ride.
The Duke howled.
The grandson kissed his grandmother's cheek, swallowed his tears and reached for his cell phone, punching in 911.
Unexpected for Poetry Jam