I’ve been driving my mom to radiation therapy every day. I sit in the parking lot halfway between a cancer treatment center and a Covid-19 testing site and watch other people wait in their cars. We drive home, mostly in silence, and then she sometimes pretends to eat. My grandmother calls to remind us both that radiation is hard on the body and didn’t you know you need to eat to keep up your strength?

I went to her house alone to photograph her, and at some point, she looked me in the eyes to remind me— “when I was your age, both of my parents died.” And she is right; we are lucky. Eventually, she will be cured, and this will be nothing. But I drove them to the beach, and we couldn’t get out. It was quiet and angry, and the weather decided to match. She didn’t eat, and there wasn’t much more to be said.