Where to begin...to fail, that is

Growing up in Valley Falls back then meant that you knew everyone in the village, or at least  you knew who everyone was, though you may not have had a direct relationship with them.  The Valley Inn was a dominant feature of the village back then;   the family who ran it seemed wealthy and established to my child's mind, though I think it was the truth.  They owned a big new car, traded in regularly, which was done then only by  the few who could afford it.  Their daughter received her education in France, perhaps the Sorbonne, though I was too young to know for certain.  Their bar and restaurant was a respectable place, where my parents would attend the New Year's Eve celebration dinner with Uncle Frank and Aunt Mary.  My aunt was on much more familiar terms with the Inn's owner and his wife, certainly more comfortable with her than my mother was.  Mary had a beautiful singing voice, and liked to sing on occasions such as parties, and the owners always welcomed her to do so.  Years went by, and eventually the family sold the Valley Inn and retired to Arizona.  That was where retirees went then, not to Florida, but to Arizona where the dry air was supposed to be good for  the breathing problems of aging adults.  I suspect that since in those days everyone smoked every place, that breathing problems were considered an inevitable part of aging. The woman, whose name may have been Leona, stayed in touch with my aunt via letter writing, the standard form of communication of the time.  One day, I heard my aunt tell my mother that she had received a letter, in which her friend wrote that she was  "beginning to fail."   For some reason, those words struck fear in my heart.  I didn't really know the woman well enough to feel concern for her, but I was dismayed that she would acknowledge that she was failing.  That term was not new to me; I used to listen to adult conversation when I was a child and those words were always associated with death being not far away.  I couldn't understand why anyone who had moved to Arizona and was able to write letters to her friends would say she was failing.  I suppose I connected her health with that of my mother, though she was somewhat older.  I only know those words were very unsettling;  the woman of course did eventually pass away, though I don't recall the timing or the details.  Her words have stuck in my mind for all these years.  If I were to analyze why, I would probably conclude that she might have been the first person I knew who confronted her own mortality.