Thanksgiving Short Short Story for Y'all

A winkled finger touches the rose and ivy design on the china plate. Tears fill her eyes, and she quickly closes them. Reaching for the handkerchief she always keeps in her sweater pocket, Labecca wipes the evidence of emotion from her cheek.
Any emotion brought questions, doctors and medicines to stop you from feeling. Memories should be allowed to flow because they painted joy, hope and love into your life. With them your essence is like a masterpiece painted by an artist; without them you are like a wisp of smoke waiting to leave.
Labecca looks around her small room with beige tile on the floor, beige paint on the wall and earth tone bedspread on the bed. No color! She feels herself fade into the neutral texture of the room and its nothingness strangles all hope of happiness from her.
She glances down at the only piece of china left from her life as a daughter, sister, mother and wife. Every Thanksgiving she had set her wedding china for her family’s feast. Afterwards she washed each piece by hand to preserve it for the next annual tradition. But what happens to tradition when you’re the only one left?
Carefully placing the plate in the wire basket attached to her walker, Lebecca struggles to rise and starts the long walk to the dining area. As she shuffles down the sterile hallway the sound of children laughing haunts her.