They could’ve been for her: words or pictures of hope painted on stone.
She read as many as she could, walking by, swallowing tears. “You can do it, don’t lose hope, love you forever…”
She paused at those for grandparents, remembering her own; the long-distance commutes to visit them, Grandma waiting outside for the family’s arrival, dinner aromas pulling them indoors where Grandpa sat, cane by his side.
She wondered how many, for whom the messages were intended, had survived their illnesses…
as she passed the bed of stones by the entrance of a cancer centre, for her own treatment.
She read as many as she could, walking by, swallowing tears. “You can do it, don’t lose hope, love you forever…”
She paused at those for grandparents, remembering her own; the long-distance commutes to visit them, Grandma waiting outside for the family’s arrival, dinner aromas pulling them indoors where Grandpa sat, cane by his side.
She wondered how many, for whom the messages were intended, had survived their illnesses…
as she passed the bed of stones by the entrance of a cancer centre, for her own treatment.
