waiting room

somewhere; sometime in my childhood, i remember an old and dying woman. she may have been my great grandmother, or a great aunt, i don't really remember as i was too young; i hadn't yet learned how to correctly place memories in the correct storage area of my brain. i do remember the stale image of pills, empty and full glasses of water, a bible and bowl of apple sauce. it was wrong to me then and is still now. it was a life of locked up death. that room was a waiting tomb. today i realized my room has become hers.