Spare the ugly face
Her mind was like her Grandmother's refrigerator : a jumble of little things, some moldy beyond recognition but still frugally saved - two brown coins of banana, few spoonfuls of rice - all in little plastic - wrapped up in squares. She couldn't get them unstuck any more than she could open her eyes. She couldn't get her eyes to open, not even for a second.
She wasn't sad.
You weren't supposed to be sad at your own death. But she wasn't joyous either.
Where was the bliss?