A baby is born; clean, a blank page. As time goes on, her pages get written. Her story being told.

Every day a blank page becomes full. Her first words, the first time she walks, she talks, she’s growing up. Some pages contradict others, her ever-changing story.

It’s unique to her, a story so different, not one is the same. She meets different people, sees different things, experiences things that nobody else does. A different combination of words, not one page is the same.

She’s a student, her notebook is being filled with new information every single day. Forever changing, forever learning. She’ll be a student to the end. By the end of high school, her pages are filled with tests, homework and a lot of notes. On to college! Bring on the information!

She meets a boy, falls in love, and here comes marriage. Oh! A baby! Her own family brings many more pages. She sends her baby to school, to high school, to college. He’s getting a house. A bittersweet page in her story.

She’s growing old now, her notebook nearly full. A one way trip to the hospital. She’s sick and won’t recover. Her pages are all the same lately, wake up, eat, go to the bathroom (with help, get wheeled to the main living area with all the other elders, watch T.V., take a nap, lunch, nap, dinner, bedtime.

Finally, it’s time to write her last page. She orders the nurse to bring in her husband, he died years ago. Ah that page has been damaged, she can’t remember. She wants her son, some family here. They come, they cry, getting this page wet with tears. She says her goodbye and wishes for a bigger page. But now, her notebook ends the same day it started, ninety years later.