Sister and the Warrior.

*as always, details changed to protect anonymity.

Afternoon rounds last week

Her: "Did you feel nervous when got that?"
Me: "When I got what?"
Her: *points at my wrist* "That."
Me: "Oh this? First yes. Then no."

*silence*

Her: "Wow. I never saw a doctor with a tattoo on her wrist."
Me: "No?"
Her: "Nope."
Me: "So. . .I'm curious. How does that make you feel?"
Her: "I'm young. So it mostly make it seem like you cool."

*laughter*

Her: "Nawww, but real talk? I think it just make me know you a person."
Me: *listening*
Her: "Like, to me, a tatt supposed to tell a story. Like, it should mean something."
Me: "I like that."
Her: *pulls gown off of shoulder* "See this one? It say 'WARRIOR.' Because I been through so much with my health but I come through stronger every time. I'm always gon' fight back!" *kicks foot out of sheet to show her foot* "This one on my foot say 'Follow my footsteps.' That one remind me that even though some people let me down when I was little, I ain't no victim. I can create my own path, follow God's path and be somebody other people want to follow, you know what I'm sayin'?"
Me: "I do. That's dope."

*silence*

Her: "I mean, you gotta be careful about where you get ink. And what it say. But you also got to do you." *covers feet back up with covers* "And you can't be drunk or nothing."
Me: *nodding* "I know that's right."

*fist bump*

Her: *points at my wrist again* "Okay. So what's the story behind that?"
Me: *turning my wrist to look at it* "Well. . . I lost a sister."
Her: "Oh man. Sorry."
Me: "Yeah. But she was awesome so I like remembering her this way. I also have another sister living. And I'm forever a sister to her, my sister who passed and to my brother. I believe in women having tight bonds so I'm a sister to my women friends. And then there's my sorority. . .that's another sisterhood I'm in."
Her: *smiling* "That's what's up."
Me: *still looking at my wrist* "Yeah. I was gonna put it somewhere else at first. But then I realized that I wanted to see it every day. So I put it here on my right wrist."

*silence*

Her: "See? I told you a tattoo make people know you a person."
Me: *laughing* "I'm not so sure everyone would agree."
Her: "I think sick people don't care about that. They just want to know you a person who care and not a robot."

*silence*

Her: "I saw that and you know what I thought?"
Me: "What's that?"
Her: "That sister gon' take care of me. 'Cause she got love in her heart for somebody."

*silence*

Me: *wanting to cry so bad*
Her: *just staring at me smiling*

She seemed like she knew I wanted to cry.

*silence*

Her: "I love your tattoo, Dr. Manning."
Me: *staring at my wrist again and smiling* "You know what, little sister? I love it, too."

Sigh.

Damn, I love this job.

***
Happy Monday.

August.

Waiting for the elevator today at Grady when one of my favorite Grady employees walks up:

Him: "Hey my favorite doc! You having a good day?"
Me: "Hey friend! I'm hangin' in. You?"
Him: "I'm cool. You know what, Dr. Manning? Every time I see you? You always look like you havin' a good day. ALWAYS, you know that? So I don't even know why I asked. I can just look at you and tell."
Me: "Well that's a nice thing to say."
Him: "It's the truth, Miss Manning."

*silence*

Me: "You want to know the truth, sir? Today hasn't been my favorite."
Him: "No? Damn. But you smiling. And on the outside you seem like you happy."
Me: "I didn't say I wasn't happy. I just said today wasn't my favorite is all."
Him: "You okay?"
Me: "I think so."
Him: "What's wrong?"

*silence*

Me: "It's August. My sister that passed a few years back would have turned 50 this month."
Him: *eyes widened* "Damn. She died?"
Me: *nods head* "Yup."
Him: "Damn. I ain't know you lost a sister. That's messed up, man. I hate hearing that."
Me: "Yeah. Me, too."

*silence*

Him: "So you happy. . . but this just ain't your favorite day, huh?"
Me: "Pretty much."
Him: "I had a brother that got shot. Wrong place wrong time. Died the next day. He was young, too."
Me: "Dang. I'm sorry."
Him: *shaking his head* "I feel you, doc. Losing your family ain't no joke."
Me: "That it ain't."

*silence*

Him: "You know what? I like that you let yourself be both things at the same time. Like, it can be a shitty day but that don't mean it's a shitty life."
Me: *squinting eyes* "Wow. That's a good word right there."
Him: "Yeah. Real talk though."
Me: *smiling* "The doors of the church are now open."

*laughter*

Him: "Well I think I'm gon' try to work on letting my life show more than my day whenever I can. 'Cause I think I got a good life."
Me: "Me, too, friend. Me, too."

After that we joined a crowded lunchtime elevator full of people and didn't say much else. But for that whole ride, we were both smiling and letting our lives shine. We sure were.

And the best part? That little exchange made my day better. It did.

Damn, I love this place.

***

A.D. (After Deanna)

"The only advice I can give someone about when you lose someone like that is you won't ever get over it. And the more you know that and embrace it, the better off you are."

~ Billy Bob Thornton

________________________________________________________

The Day before Ides of November, Year 5

It's been five years since the day before she left us. For me, they all kind of run together but there's always something about November 14 that stands out. That was the day before things shifted. Now? I will always see my adult life as November 14, 2012 and before-- and then everything after that collectively as A.D. -- After Deanna.

A giant line was drawn in the sand of my life that day. All that was before that day seems like it was so simple, man. Even when it wasn't simple. See, what was simple was that you could trust the day to be what it was. Happy would be happy. Sad would be sad. Lumpy would be lumpy. But it was what it was, you know? I mean, you could walk into that day or that month or that week believing that this is what it will be. And trust it to be just that.

And up until then, I mostly felt that way. I did.

But then came November of 2012. It started off so seemingly normal. The sky bursting with this extraordinary blue and the leaves on the Japanese maple evolving into the most painstakingly beautiful shade of bright red that it seemed like they weren't even real. Just two weekends before the day she departed we sat together on the bleachers screaming and cheering at a pee wee football game. Deanna had painted a poster for Zachary's team by hand and he was so, so proud of that. So proud that he refused to let the team run through it because he didn't want it to tear.

Ha.

My text exchanges the days before were about Thanksgiving week. I had to work for part of it. She had the week off. She offered to help me out with the kids but only up until Wednesday because she had plans to attend the Turkey Day Classic football game in Alabama that day. She loved our alma mater Tuskegee so her being unavailable to me so that she could be available to Tuskegee made sense to me. All of that was cool with me. Yeah, man. It was.

I have read those text messages no less than 1,000 times. I scroll back as far as I can and remember the innocence of that time. How my fear of bad things like sisters suddenly dying were mostly hypothetical and outlandish and not the kinds of things that could affect me in real life. That is, until they actually did affect me in real life.

So that November of 2012 was pivotal. It shifted my view on life and the world I live in and what is promised to me. What is sure is right now. Not even today but now. And so what happens after something like this is that you start to really, really look at your now with different eyes.

Does this even make sense?

For those who have lived through one of these moments, you already know. You know that you can start a Tuesday thinking it will be just the day after Monday and nothing else. But once you experience one of these knock the wind from your chest moments? You know not to fully and completely trust Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or any day completely. Negative sounding, I know. But that's not how I mean for it to sound. I'm just saying now I understand that there's always some piece of what will happen next in a day that is impossible to predict. So you learn to keep a tiny piece of yourself "woke" just in case that day pulls a fast one on you. And no. That doesn't mean live in fear or don't appreciate it. I guess, to me, it instead means savor the piece of it that is before you. The slice right in front of you sitting on your plate. Savor it. Dig into it with your fork and close your eyes when you take that bite. Yes. Taste every bit of it that you can. Because something could shift and make it where you can't.

Sigh. Rambling, I know.

I think what I am realizing is that every day could be the day before November 15. Which, in a way, makes me both happy and a bit scared at the same time. But mostly happy.

Here's why:

The day before Deanna died was just about as perfect as a day could get.  I had given a lecture that afternoon at Grady that she'd helped me with. It was something that called for courage because it was so different than most standard medical lectures. And, at first, we had some glitches in the AV equipment. But then it worked out and went wonderfully. So great that I have given that lecture several times and even in several different states. I called Deanna in the middle of that day and told her how great it was. How really, really great it was. And, like always, she said that she knew it would be. That was one piece of that day. Later on, she picked up our kids and when I came home she was doing crafts with them on the dining room table. There was glitter everywhere and everyone was so happy. I'd come in with a handful of groceries and started making some dinner. Spaghetti. 

"Join us for dinner?" I asked.

"Sure, why not?" she replied. 

And I cooked while they kept on sprinkling that glitter. She listened as I rehashed every single detail of my lecture and the kids screamed and made as much noise as possible. Harry came in and all of us just laughed and talked and ate and hugged until well after 9PM. And I remember thinking how awesome it all was. How happy I felt that we lived in the same city and how grateful I was that she was there to help me with my kids. I even recalled that moment just a few weeks before crying while telling her all of this. Sitting at the kitchen table weeping and saying how truly, truly, truly grateful I was that she was there to help me because I needed it. I needed her to help me raise my kids and to be brave. And she would just smile and say, "You do need me. You're a mess. But you got me so it's good." 

Then we'd just laugh and laugh. 

I am laughing and crying while typing this because she was so right. I was and am a mess. And I still need her. I do. The cool thing is that, while I know she isn't here in the flesh, I know I still have her. I can hear her when I close my eyes and sit very still. Her strong opinions, her unfiltered advice, her favorite pet name for people she loved "Pookie." And, as crazy as it might sound, the parts of me that are a mess without her are a price I'm willing to pay to honor her. 

Sigh.

Man, oh man. I had no idea that the day after the great glitter and spaghetti night that she'd be physically gone. Just like most people who live through such a thing feel, you know? But there is such a tremendous comfort in remembering how wonderful that November 14 was for us. That she would think to stay late on a school night even though she had to work and that we laughed out loud and did the most ordinary extraordinary things. I love that I was given the gift of discernment in that moment, too. Like, that I knew to think "this is a great day and a special moment" right then and there while it was happening. That was a gift, man. A real gift. Which is a very, very good thing to hold in my heart A.D.

It is.

And so. Now I'm really into trying to do that more. I want to  feel my life and experience it all in high definition. I want to see it and touch it and savor it. Each hug, each laugh, each kiss. Fill it all up with the people who bring me joy and not anxiety. And permit myself to be okay with not giving that precious space in time to those who don't. Because I'm never fully sure if this is the day before a day like November 15. And some piece of me is always praying that, since I never can know what is coming around the corner, that I will live with enough intention to have very few regrets. I'll know I loved hard and was wide awake for it all. 

And I get it that the intensity of it all probably sounds exhausting. And no. I'm assure you that I don't get it right a lot of the time. But you know what? Damn, do I try.

Damn, do I try as hard as I can.

I miss my sister every single day. And I hope that I always will. 

Yeah.

***

Be intentional with your days, okay?

This resonated with me. I get his melancholy and don't see it as a bad thing. Some piece of me will always be sad and I'm okay with that. It's okay.

Image of the Day: January 8.

He was only 6 when she passed away. That said, I'm thankful for that part because memories are less fuzzy when they happen at this age and beyond. In his mind's eyes, she isn't some amorphous, fantastical legend. Deanna was a life force in his own and one that he remembers for himself.

For himself.

I took this photo yesterday evening upon Zachary's request. He'd just brought home a form for a fundraiser his school is doing for the American Heart Association. Diligently, he filled out the donation form and asked me to help him create a page.  He even had me take a video of him to send to family--an unrehearsed quick take in his own words to help with his efforts.

"I want to raise money to help people with heart problems," he said. "And I want to do it for my Auntie Deanna."

He didn't sound morose or somber when he said that, either. Instead there was a glimmer in his eyes of such earnest innocence about this idea that it quickly sucked the wind from my chest and made my eyes sting. Zachary even set a goal that was more than the minimum. And sure, the kid in him was rather enamored by the array of plastic prizes offered for high fundraisers, but I believed him when he said that the impetus was helping to fight against the disease that robbed him of his precious auntie. Truly, I did.

Yep.

Okay, so I'd be remiss if I didn't include a link to his American Heart Association fundraising page. But please--don't feel any pressure. Warm wishes are also accepted and equally appreciated.

Zachary's American Heart Association Donation Page

***
Happy Friday.

Oh, but it's wonderful.

Where there's the flower

there's the sun and the rain

Oh, but it's wonderful

they're both one and the same

~ Frankie Beverly and Maze

On this night he was missing his Auntie Deanna something ferocious. That usually quiescent grief rose up mightily and gnashed at his little soul. First, it was just his lip quivering ever-so-slightly while working math problems at the kitchen table. That's when it always happens. Over homework. Homework makes him miss her the most. So his mouth trembled. . . then, he just let it go. Those flood gates opened and out came the longing.

I tried with words at first but they fell on the floor in awkward splats. "I know she's in my heart," he said, "but that's not enough for me right now." And that was that. It wasn't.

And so. I just pulled him close and held him. Kissed his curls while he cried and cried. Eventually, he just asked to go to bed, which is what he always does on the nights that he grieves like this.

The next morning, I found him fast asleep. . . curled into the tiniest of balls and clutching this with both arms as if his life depended upon its safekeeping.

Even though that sight sucked the wind from my chest and nearly dropped me to my knees, it gave me a little lift, too. How precious is it that he remembers her with such tenacity! Oh, what a gift to not only him but to me! I love how he loves her. I do. His tears that day were as raw as they were in 2012. They were.

"Some piece of me always wants to miss her," I told Isaiah, "the pain reminds me of our love."

"She always said I was a special boy. And very smart." And he wept some more.

"Do you believe that?"

He nodded. "Because she helped me know that. And I still think about her every day. Every, every, every day." And the innocence of his words and the sincerity nestled inside of them made me both happy and sad because I knew they were true.

Sigh.

Joy and pain are like sunshine and rain. And you know? That's alright with me. It is.

Yeah.

***
Happy Wednesday.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . .

The Ides of November.

Yesterday was November 15. Two years to the day after we entered the new normal of life without Deanna. At least, life without her in the flesh. I'd say that's a good segue actually. It's been hard not being able to call her up or see her face or hear her hearty laughter. But the truth is this: It isn't "life without Deanna."

And, if it's up to us, it never will be.

This year it fell on a Saturday. The "it" being ides of November, that fateful marker of it all. And since the family's motto has been "more glad than sad," we all did things that were meaningful in her memory. See, Deanna always believed in punctuating important moments with fellowship and loving gestures. For her, the love was always in the details. A day of moping about alone, fielding text messages and emails by responding with nondescript emoticons wasn't an option.

Nope.

My day started out exactly as I wanted. The sun rising slowly into the sky of  a crisp autumnal day and a quiet house. I sat on my couch alone, closed my eyes, and prayed. Mostly, it was a prayer of thanks for having the chance to know and love Deanna and for not just surviving, but thriving in ways that I believe would have made her very, very proud. I prayed for my parents and for every parent who knows what it feels like to lay their own child to rest. I recognize the unnatural order of that, and how the grieving process of a parent who has lost a child is so exponentially different than that of losing a sibling. In that quiet time alone, I vow to remember that and I petition God to give my parents as much peace as is possible.

I asked some of my sorority sisters who pledged in the same collegiate chapter as me if they'd join me for an early morning run. I knew I wanted to get my heart pumping early on November 15, but also that  doing so in the fellowship of Delta girls would please my sister. She loved seeing people united and the sentiment of something like a "Tuskegee Delta Girl" group run would never have been lost on her. And you know what? Despite me asking for them to join me at an oppressively early time on an even more oppressively cold morning, they did.

They did.

And so. Tamika W., Ishan M., Valencia M., and Natalie K. all bundled up and flanked my sides as we did this kindness for our cardiovascular systems and our souls. We laughed. We talked. And, at one point, there were a few tears. Mostly from me when I thanked them for being with me  and how much I needed them that day. I appreciated them and I needed them to know it.

Yes.

We had such fun. It was exactly what the doctor ordered and felt like the most perfect chicken soup for my soul. Yes, it did.

I channeled my inner Deanna and ordered a little souvenir to give them commemorating our run that morning. Yes. Ordered it--which is usually the kind of thing I'd never have my act together enough to do. But Deanna? She would have been all over that.

Yep.

In our chapter, especially as pledges, we sing lots of songs and make many references to ducks. It's not necessarily unique to Tuskegee, but is something I've noticed we emphasize a bit more than others. And so. A run with my fellow Gamma Tau chapter initiates seemed fitting for the little token I found--a little red ducky covered in hearts. Yes, hearts.

I cried when I gave it to them. The symbolism of it, the sacrifice they'd made, and just the whole idea of it all. What could be more important in a sisterhood than this? Being there when a sister needs you. This? This made me feel so  . . so. . .full in side. And probably always will.

I'm so glad we did that together. Tamika suggested we do an annual Gamma Tau Deltas Duck Run from here forward. I told her it's a date.

After that was football. Zack's team was in the semifinals and fought hard in a very painful loss in overtime. It hurt my heart to see him crying so hard, but some part of me loved the passion it represented. Deanna would have been the loudest of all at that game.

I thought of her a lot this season. Her energy, her zeal for supporting family at sports events. I cheered for us both this season. (My alter ego, Kimmy T., is really a hybrid of Deanna and me. LOL.)

Harry let Zachary know that he'd left it all on the field and that he was proud of how hard he'd tried. And how much of himself he'd given. I told him that if he hears thunder later, it's because his auntie is applauding from the heavens. He'd given his best effort -- his very best effort -- and that was all anyone could ask for. I even felt like I'd made a better effort to support him, too. As Deanna would--through those loving details like ordering green mini megaphones for the moms, getting the whole crowd going, and never, ever missing a game.

That's a good metaphor, now that I think of it. Leaving it all on the field, you know? I think that's why Deanna affected so many people. She lived her life so big and bold. She loved hard and intentionally and never left people guessing about where they stood with her. When you asked her to do something, if she could, she did it. And she did it with such enthusiasm, such attentiveness and love. How exquisite is it to have lived a life where others can say that you left it all on the field?

Of course, it feels so abbreviated, her life. We imagine what more she could have done and mourn that loss. But when I think about how well she played her life, I can't be mad. With her love, there was never any pass interference. Her aim was always spot on.

Yeah, man.

The rest of the family did special things, too. Will and Fran had the "Auntie Dee's Lemon Drop" martini at Rivals, the restaurant Will owns. Earlier that day, he and his son David played their "First Annual Auntie Deanna Father-Son Golf Outing." Which, as you can see, was perfect.

JoLai and Poopdeck went on a hellacious hike up in Baldwin Hills yesterday. Dad sent this pic of them with the caption: "At the top of the hill and still lovin' Plinko!"  We all smiled when we saw it since Plinko was his pet name for her. It also made me happy to see their hearts pumping, too.

Mom was exactly where she needed to be. At the place that gives her the most solace--the ocean. A group of her good friends joined her down at Siesta Key and when I spoke to her she sounded peaceful and happy. Which made me happy.

And so. Yes. It's been two years since Deanna made her transition. But I'm happy to report that the kids are still alright. Love doesn't die. It doesn't. And since we know that, we are all still more glad than sad. And pressing on to live our lives with purpose and especially, when it comes the legacy of love when have to give. . . . leaving it all on the field. Just like she did.

Yeah.

***
Happy Sunday. Are you leaving it all on the field? If not, why?

From the mouths of babes.

Right before heading over to Will and Fran's on Saturday evening:

Isaiah: Mom, I've been thinking about what reasons God would have had to let Auntie pass away.

Me: You have?

Isaiah: Yeah. Well. . . I think I know at least one of the reasons.

Me: You do?

Isaiah: Mom? I kind of think God might have wanted our family to be closer. Ever since Auntie's funeral I feel like we are even closer to each other and good at showing our love more. Like I see my cousins more and everybody just seems like they talk more and are closer.

Me: Hmmm. Do you think that pleases God?

Isaiah: I think so, Mom. Because I know it pleases me.

Me: Me, too, son. Me, too.

***

That exchange made me think of this night and how glad I am that Deanna was here to witness it. It still amazes me that she had the foresight to snap that video of that moment between my brother and me. It's almost like she knew something or that the whole universe knew to give us that magical evening with a piece caught on film.

Fall makes me miss her. Especially fall.

***
Happy Monday. Measure your life in love, okay?

No one can tell you what you know.

There've been times in my life,

I've been wonderin' why

Still, somehow I believed we'd always survive. . . . 

Now, I'm not so sure--

You're waiting here, one good reason to try

But, what more can I say?

What's left to provide?

You think that maybe it's over

Only if you want it to be

Are you gonna wait for a sign? Your miracle?

Stand up and fight. . . . .

This is it

Make no mistake where you are

This is it

Your back's to the corner . . . .

This is it

Don't be a fool anymore

The waiting is over

No, don't you run

No way to hide

No time for wonderin' why

It's here, the moment is now, about to decide

Let 'em believe

Leave 'em behind

But keep me near in your heart

Know whatever you do, I'm here by your side

You say that maybe it's over

Not if you don't want it to be . . . . . 

For once in your life, here's your miracle

Stand up and fight . . . . .

This is it

Make no mistake where you are . . . .

This is it

You're goin' no further

This is it

Until it's over and done. . .

No one can tell you what you know

Who makes the choice of how it goes?

It's not up to me this time

You know. . . .

Comes a day in every life

This is it

Make no mistake where you are

This is it

You're goin' no further

This is it

Until it's over and done

This is it

One way or another

This is it

No one can tell what the future holds

You make the choice of how it goes. . . . 

The waiting is over.

~ from "This is It" as sung by Kenny Loggins (with Michael McDonald on backup vocals!)

______________________________________

Feeling rambly. Consider yourselves warned.

Mmmm hmmmm.

Well. Graduation day has come and gone. And, like always, it just never gets old for me.

Ever.

This year was particularly emotional for me. I know for sure that, since losing my sister, I'm a different person. While I always tried to live my life as intentionally as I could, something about the shift my world took on November 15, 2012 made me see it differently. Like . . .I don't know. . .I just feel like I don't want to be involved in any relationships that feel . . . insignificant.

Yeah. That.

I'm sure it sounds exhausting, right? This idea of trying hard at each and every relationship to make it count. The truth is that sometimes it is. But most of the time? It really isn't. I started listening to my spirit more and pushing open the doors that need to be opened. I've also been less afraid to close the ones that don't feel right or that don't nourish my soul.

I know, I know. You're probably saying, "But what does any of this have to do with medical school graduation?"

Well. I'll tell you. See. . . what we do is all about relationships. To be effective at it and to make it really count? It requires intention and building and pouring into people. So. . I guess what I'm saying is that now I find myself thinking more about my time with people. I think about our interactions and what they mean. And, in full transparency, I ponder the divine aspects of these relationships as well. Like. . what am I supposed to be doing right now? Why has this person been placed in my path?

Ugggh. Harry calls this being "heavy." Ha. I guess. But I'm just being honest about where my head is at these days. And the cool part about it is that it feels so much more right and rich now. It does.

This collection of pictures is really a story of relationships. I sat here this evening just staring at those faces and recalling the times connected to them. What we were doing, talking about, laughing about or whatever. I love the graduation photos with the smiles because even though they show the glory--what I see in them is the story. Yes, that. The story. And you know what? I have five trillion more images where these came from.

Yup.

Anyways. As advisors, we get to put the doctoral hoods over the heads of our advisees. That's what those hugging on stage graduation photos are from. Usually, I feel quite verklempt about it but this year? I completely broke down crying. For real. I guess the story part was in higher def for me this year. And perhaps my mind was more present in it all. I don't know.

Seriously, though--it bordered on the full-on ugly cry. Like FULL ON. I managed to quasi get my face together, but I was doing those little kid cry-tics where you occasionally gasp for air from crying. It wasn't really pretty. At. All.

But so what.

The only issue I had with a real, true ugly cry was that this was not my moment--it was that of my students. I certainly didn't want my cry-tic-pop-locking to become the center of the attention. So, yeah. I'm gonna need to work on that.

I blame Kenny Loggins. See, the morning of commencement I was listening to Pandora radio and was on an old 80's soft rock station. Yeah, so what. Anyways, I'm rolling down Ponce de Leon on my way back to the house and on comes that song. This is fricking it.

So, did I mention? Part of my life of intention also means that I hear all the lyrics to songs differently now. So my mental iPod is really on overload these days. Damn, it is. Yeah, so I'm driving and listening, right? And then he says this one line that stuck in my head like a piece of gum in a little kid's hair. . . .

"No one can tell you what you know."

And though I've heard that song seven trillion times and even had it in my real iTunes library, never had I really heard that one line before. No one can tell you what you know. And you know? The minute I heard it--I mean really heard it--I broke down crying. See, some of those students? They were in situations where someone was telling them something inconsistent with who they knew they were. And those words just spoke to my spirit and cosigned all that I hope those I work with see in my eyes.

No one can tell you what you know. Who makes the choice of how it goes?

Then I started thinking of my own boys and even my husband and praying that they know who they are. Like really and truly know. Because when you believe that you're a winner and worth people's time and love and energy . . .then you receive it better. You also counter the negativity that attacks you from the outside and the inside.

Yes. The inside.

Another thing. Medical school is rough. But it is particularly rough for underrepresented minorities for a myriad of complicated reasons. I think Meharry Medical College--my alma mater which happens to be historically black--did a good job of sealing into me a positive image of myself as a young physician. So when I headed to residency and faced a few tricky situations or awkward teams? Or when someone was dealing with me like I was mediocre or even just ignoring me altogether? Man, please. No one can tell me what I know.

My parents did most of it but you'll be surprised at what something as hard and competitive as medical school can do to unravel all the good things parents pour into their kids. One sucker punch and they are on all fours redefining who they believe they are. And see? That's where we come in. To look at those learners with expectant eyes that remind them of who they are. And no, this isn't just students of color--it's every one. But I feel this urgency sometimes with the ones that look like me. Almost like, for some,  this is the first time somebody looked at them like that. Or at least some one that wasn't their mama or their daddy.

Yeah.

No one can tell you what you know. Nope.

It's been a weepy series of days, actually. Last week, I went to the annual Senior Banquet for our graduating medical students. They give student awards, have a lot of fun and also give some nods to faculty as well. I've been fortunate enough to get acknowledged by them in prior years. And in my experience, they usually send some kind of email that feels like a hint. Or sort of like one. The kind that says "we need to make sure you're there." Anywho. This year, I didn't get anything like that. And that was fine with me because I'm surrounded by amazing educators, many of whom deserve to be chosen by the graduates as "best attending."

Yeah.

So, as the story goes, they called my name. And when I heard it, I was stunned. Not stunned because I think of myself as some lackluster educator, but just. . .I really didn't think it would be me this year. I just didn't. So I go up and they have you say a few words which I stammered through. Something about the fact that I don't take this lightly. Which was true because I don't.

I don't.

But then I stepped off stage and that moment hit me. Here was a completely different class than the prior year. A unique panel of voters from any other time that award had ever been given. And you know? I know in my heart that I tried hard with those students. And I know I'm not the only one, but still. I did my best to value them and show up each day with an enthusiasm that let them know I was glad to be there. I tried to be intentional in our meetings and I tried to listen like Ira Schwartz--my friend and colleague who is literally the very best listener I've ever known. And then I thought about what I always think about when I've worked hard at something and it turns out okay. Or even really good. Or really well. Hell. You get the picture.

I wanted to tell Deanna.

No matter what I ever shared with her, no matter how many times, she was proud of me and happy for me like it was the very first time it ever happened. And she would look at me and tell me how it made her feel and how she knew how hard I'd tried. That was one of my favorite things about her. And every time I get even the smallest accolade, it is bittersweet because I want to call or text my sissy so bad. So, so bad.

So I left that stage and the tears started falling. Complicated tears that, at first, I thought looked super phony like I was feigning emotion. But then I realized how stupid that was and let it go. No one can tell you what you know. And I knew how I felt in that moment. I did.

So when I got home I called my baby sissy. And she stepped right into Deanna's shoes without even being prompted. And she got it when I felt emotional and she nourished my soul. Yes. That.

Yeah.

Look, I'm sorry for rambling. I guess it was just one of those nights, you know? I think I'll be pondering these words and maybe even saying them to my learners when they need to hear them:

No one can tell you what you know.

And you know what? I'm going to be saying those words to me, too.

Yeah.

***
Happy Graduation.

Now playing on the mental iPod nonstop. . .go ahead and admit it. . . . anything with Michael McDonald even humming in the background is officially a LEGIT JAM. Get up and dance, old people. And if you were old enough to either graduate to this or make out to it, you're older than me. Just sayin'. Ha.

What do you feel when you hear this song? Just wondering.



And reposting Mark's virtual graduation from last year's commencement.

Watching this video and hearing this song always makes me feel happy inside. Hope it does the same for you. 

Commencement 2013 from Kimberly Manning on Vimeo.