There’s laughter, the sounds of chairs moving and scraping the floor…the sound of a big sister telling her baby brother not to stand on the chair while their mom juggles plates…there are the smells coming from the other side of the counter…the kitchen manager gives “Robby” an extra dinner roll because he loves bread and he promised to eat all his vegetables if he gets “… just one more row, pweeeeese.”
There’s also the new family member who just arrived three hours ago; she sits at an empty table. She’s tired, lonely, afraid and still a little dazed. There’s a small cut under her eye but the heavy makeup covers the rest. It’s the scars no one sees, yet everyone understands… They call it Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI).
Another “sister” with her three children asks to join her, because now the dining room is full. And that’s what families do; they try to make things better, and never leave anyone in isolation.
It’s a room full of strangers, yet it feels like home.
But you know it’s not. It’s the dining room within a domestic violence shelter…