Death (and mortality) is unending fixation
Such is her obsession

Sometimes, it was most prominent
When she thought of her loved ones
Both close and distant

At times, she didn't see them
Just their hourglasses
Comparing theirs to hers

She wasn't so much "predicting"
As much as she was "preparing"
For when their hourglasses

Would run out
And when Death would collect them

It was never a matter of "If"
No, "If" would apply to if she outlived them or vice versa
It was always when

Death's collection is a certainty
Death can only be delayed but she can't be stopped
She'll come when she comes

And she comes when it's time

Her own mortality she could accept
And she's made some peace with it but
Her loved ones mortality

Is something she has to force acceptance

She was preemptively preparing
While making note of their hourglasses
Some cognizance of

Who she'll have several years with
And who will depart before she reaches middle age.