I had no concept of how big the club is. Having told people about my bout with diverticulitis there have been a tumble of stories about other people's unhappy colons. I went to my favorite cafe in the morning and of the four people there that day three raised their hands. Plus those were not isolated cases, but ongoing. I am chagrined at my own ignorance about a condition that plagues many of us. Sort of like when I had a miscarriage I woke up to the frequency of that silent suffering.  

It has been comforting to Ben to see that his mom has to count and swallow pills too. Usually it is his alone to bear, and being an anomaly doesn't help.  It seems that feeling like the oddball compounds our suffering. 

There was a video I stumbled across years ago whose entire script was to form clubs. The crowd of perhaps fifty strangers stood together, yet isolated too. 

"Who here has a step parent?" Twenty people walked into the center. 

"Which of you speaks multiple languages?" A different collection of souls gathered.

"Who has lost a family member to cancer?" Slowly, sadly, people shuffled into solidarity.

It moved me to observe how that simple process, taking only a few seconds, broke down the imaginary walls we erect. 

The impulse to belong runs deep. Perhaps we are all like the flocks of birds who recently have returned from the south. I see them flapping overhead, pulled in the same direction, and united in their common desire for warmth, food, a place to rest.