One hand clutched a pebble and the other guided a spoonful of rice, rasam and beans curry into my waiting mouth. With the strains of Sasha’s Airdrawndagger lifting higher and higher and my father patiently waiting for his daughter’s assessment of this midday meal, my perch was a place higher than heaven. The circle is complete, I am whole.
My little sphere of divinity must have increased in radius for soon after I received an uplifting call from D. He informed me that his mother’s lung cancer had been caught at a very early stage and that a few months of radiation and chemotherapy should take care of it. Yes, D and I seem to sit on a fast-swinging pendulum between optimism and discouragement, but such is our lot when faced with a condition that baffles logic and time until it … the cancer … is gone. It ain’t over ’til it’s over.
The woman doesn’t take crap from anything or anyone, though, and this fills me with hope.
Food Disease Rocks Music. The intangible external sensations that ground us to our internal humanity.
