Outside the cancer center is a brick-paved patio topped with white rocking chairs offering a view of a peaceful lake. In springs and summers, the chairs are arranged in welcoming conversation clusters.
But on a cold, blustery, winter day, the rockers were huddled, empty, desolate – jammed together, higgledy piggledy.
In capturing this scene, I sensed the spirits of many ghosts. Maybe of the patients who had sat there awaiting treatment. Or of the family members who had accompanied them. Which of the men and women who had enjoyed this spot, this view, and the warmth of the sun had passed on? Who was sad to have lost a loved one? And who had recovered to rejoice in more springs and summers?
I could almost hear the echoes of their conversations, perhaps their supplications. Between friends. Between patients and their Gods. With their loved ones. In those echoes, I felt both despair and hope.