"The Jilting of Granny Weatherall" unfolds within the confines of Granny's bedroom during her final hours, yet much of its true action takes place in her mind. Through the lens of stream-of-consciousness, readers experience the last moments of an eighty-year-old woman as she revisits her past while lying on her deathbed. As her children gather around, she reflects on her life and the memories that have shaped her, including a pivotal event from six decades prior: being left at the altar by her fiancé, George.

Fragmented Memories and Merging Realities

Porter skillfully uncovers the jilting's details through Granny Weatherall's disjointed recollections. Her consciousness wavers between past and present, casting people and objects in new, sometimes confusing roles. After the doctor departs, Granny evaluates her life, taking comfort in the thought of her life’s plan being neatly "tucked in." However, she is quickly reminded of death, which invades her mind with a clammy, strange presence. This prompts memories of a previous near-death experience, where she had overly prepared for the end. Contemplating her life's work—cooking, sewing, gardening—she reassures herself with a silent question to her deceased husband, "Well, I didn't do so badly, did I?"

Unwanted Remembrance

Despite her efforts to suppress it, the memory of her jilting intrudes into Granny Weatherall's reflections. Recalling her bridal preparation, "the white veil and cake" for a groom who never arrived, she is transported back to that fateful day. Though she had spent decades trying to forget him, she now wishes to confront George to affirm that she built a life, "a husband, children, and a home," akin to any other woman. The memory is so vivid that she relives the despair felt when "the whole bottom dropped out of the world," leaving her feeling blind and unsupported.

The Final Convergence

As Granny Weatherall approaches the end, the lines between her past and present, the living and the deceased, become indistinct. While receiving last rites from the priest, she drifts further from life, her surroundings blurring into her memories. Holding onto her son's thumb, she senses that her time is near. As "the blue light from Cornelia's lampshade narrows to a tiny point," she hopes for a divine sign to reassure her about what waits beyond death. Yet, for the second time, she finds no such sign, experiencing a profound betrayal that eclipses her earlier jilting. This new grief is overwhelming, leaving no room for any other sorrow.