Yesterday, I met my mom and sister at the cancer center where my mom had her fourth chemo treatment. There is a big room with rows of highback chairs where patients sit during the hours-long process.
I made a few mental observations on the drive home:
It's like this group of disconnected people become a family. They share sound bytes of their lives: vacations, weddings, where they live, the layout of the land.
The bond binding them together is a toxic cocktail, mixed to perfection for each one's needs, and dripping into each of their arms.
The family reunion congregates once every few weeks; for others, the get-togethers are farther apart.
There's a feeling of camaraderie in this room, an inkling of an 'I'm gonna beat this thing" mantra being silently spoken, but the 'c' word is never mentioned - at least while I'm sitting here.