It’s been twenty years, but I can still see my father, the gentleman doctor as brothers, sitting beside my Aunt in NYC. She’s in a rigid metal halo & back brace, due to the fractures along her spine from metastatic breast CA. Cheeks flushed with steroids, she’s trying to eat, but can’t due to the brace. My father is trying to help her, trying to keep her laughing – as he has always done – but I see this deeply quiet individual suffering… it’s silent but so loud to me.