These women are gathered together at another woman's house, and there's this huge cake, right? It's covered with a thick mass of chocolate frosting, and your mouth begins to salivate at the sight, even through the medium of the TV.

Then, one of the other women approached the cake and said, "Wow, how many cans of frosting did you use for that cake?" It was advertising Duncan Hines' new larger containers of frosting.

Well, I found it completely unbelievable—not that just one of those mega containers of frosting could cover the entire cake so decadently, but that any woman would take the time to admire that cake during a time when her head could be lowered to cake-level, licking.

Last night a friend tried to talk me out of the void. Unfortunately, I wasn't a receptive audience.

So many heart trembling moments have come to pass in just the last day. Mom couldn't receive her chemotherapy yesterday because of elevated blood glucose levels. We go back today, after she's fasted, to try the blood test again, hopefully receiving more positive results. I felt regret yesterday, a dull throb of pain in the center of my chest.

On the walk back from the cancer ward, a woman exited the bathroom and looked like she was trembling on the edge of tears. Mom, who was talking to Charlie and me, stopped mid-sentence and approached the woman asking, "Do you need a hug?" They embraced and the woman sobbed and mom crooned, "It'll be ok." I felt more of that dull ache in my chest.

This morning, I stumbled weakly from bed to discover that my brother shaved his head in support of Mom. Where, at one time, tears would have welled, I, again, felt only that ache, only that pulsing echo of emptiness. It is as though I have lost my ability to react, leastwise noticeably. In the last several days, I have become a shell.

I'm dried up. How long before it reaches my soul?