Death knocked on my doors unexpectedly that day. 
Let me take a moment to consider the word. 
Was it really unexpected? 
Is death really unexpected?
Don’t we know we will all die?
I knew she will die. Not that I had thought of it, even once. 
Some day. (What a wonderfully optimistic word it is: “some day”.)
It is an awareness. It is not a conscious knowledge.
Not something we spend even a minute on, unnecessarily.
On the other hand, it was her husband who had been sick. For whose treatment she used to borrow money.
So that’s why it was unexpected. 
Subconsciously perhaps, we expected him to pass first. As though… 
It’s unpleasant when we put it into words like that. We never expected him to die either.
That had not been a real thought we spent our time on, either. An consciousness, a belief, somewhere deep within.
But if that had happened, we would have nodded. Yes, he was sick. It was bound to happen, sooner or later. 
She had been missing for a few days. Gone away, we were told. Which was true. She fell sick during her final journey. A pilgrimage? A vacation? Or a final duty to fulfil?
No one really learned when the transition to a hospital happened. A surgery followed. 
All in a matter of days. 
The next thing we see is her body wrapped in a cloth. Cotton in her nose and ears. Bloated face.
A mere shadow of herself. 
Because we expect nothing to change. 
We expect tomorrow to be just as uneventful as today.
We complain about its uneventfulness, mundaneness, stagnant boredom – even when, in a way, we’re grateful for it.