Analysis Of Mrs. Wrightmoore

I’m still so worried about her, she looks so fragile. It’s been months since Rob’s death and she still hasn’t left her house. I know that as caretaker that I have to respect her boundaries, but this can’t go on like this anymore. She's not truly the same anymore: the light from her eyes disappeared, the way she smiles isn't even half of what it was and her laugh is so half-hearted now that it hurts. I've got to do something about this.
"Miss Wrightmoore, are y-,” I start.
"That's Mrs. Wrightmoore to you boy and don't you forget it," she declares suddenly, startling both her dog and I. Understanding my reaction, she clarifies with an apology and a reminder that even though her husband is dead, she is still married to him.
Nodding in agreement, I
After clearing all the objects around Mrs. Wrightmoore, I am by a bright smile which I gladly return. ‘Man it’s good to smile like this again,’ I think to myself.
“It feels good to smile this too. But I’m not as spry as I used to be, so can you help a young woman up?”
Jumping back to reality,“Uhm...right. Help you up. Are you ok? Nothing broken. Wait you heard what I said?”
“I may be old but I’m not deaf, especially when you say your thoughts out loud,” she quipped, pointing a tanned finger at me.
“Welp, that’s a first,” I say.
She patted my cheek and replied, “That’s what you think. Nevermind all that, now go back to the living room,” obeying her command, I sit and wait ‘til I hear, “Aha!”
She confidently walks in and drops a large shoebox in my lap. “...so what do you want me to do with it?” I ask. I pick it up and look at its surface, trying to find a name or something on it. A small border on the bottom catches my eye and I flipped the box over to see what was on it. Ultimately, that ends up with all the contents in the box spilling in my lap and on the