The last few weeks in This American Life.

Isaiah is running with a coach two to three times per week. His goal is to "run distance."

No rigorous meets or any such thing for him. He is the one who is content to compete against himself. This is just his way and this activity honors that.

On this day, Coach was running late. Instead of waiting in the car, Isaiah got out and started his workout. "It's okay, Mom," he said, "I know what to do."

And he did.

A visit with my patient who has a diagnosis that will abbreviate his life. I cared for him while on the hospital service and had gone up to visit him on this day.

"What can I do for you?" I asked.

"Just hold my hand."

And so I did.

He let me take this picture to remember our connection. I asked if it was okay for me to share it with you and he said, "I want you to."

And so I did.

I sort of want to cry every time I see that photo. And by "sort of" I mean that I do.

This was when Zachary saw me for the first time at the end of one of his last games. He'd made a touchdown and had just pulled his helmet off of his head.

"Did you see it?" he asked me urgently. "Did you see me make a touchdown, mama?"

"Did I? You know it, baby." 

I had just gotten off of rounds at Grady and made it to the game at the start of the second half. Two plays later, Zachary made that touchdown. I am so, so glad that I could say "yes" when he asked me.

And mean it.

One of my favorite residents made me a homemade peach crumble. She asked me if I liked it.

This picture, taken in my office just a few moments after discovering her special delivery, was my response.

And yes, Jen Z., I tried it with ice cream at home, too.

My brother took my nephew, David, to Boston to visit Harvard. He's a scholar athlete and that's one of the schools he's looking at. Dave is an amazing baseball player and was fortunate enough to have the coaches at Harvard invite him up. While there, Will took him to Fenway Park for a Red Sox game. I'm pretty sure that sitting in that stadium next to his dad was one of the best moments of his entire life. Just imagine how my brother felt.

*swoon*

Remember the days when you used to put on dance shows for the grown ups as kids? Man. Me, my sisters and my cousins did this EXACT thing. This was at a cookout a couple of weeks back. Watching these kids brought back major memories.

 

I think I have a crush on the one in the shades. Talk about a tall drink of. . .uhh. . .  Coca Cola. Ha.

 Wow. It's hard to believe that these three pesky girls from Meharry are now all grown up and leading people. Jada R. and Yolanda W. graduated from med school with me in 1996. We spent many, many, many hours together during our student years and I'm proud to say that we've spent many, many more after. On this day earlier this week we were sitting on a career panel at Morehouse School of Medicine. I felt really proud of us. 

I am glad to call them friends. And my sorority sisters. And, of course, my Ruths.

Our husbands are all friends and fraternity brothers, too which is an added bonus.

This one (Reggie) belongs to Yolanda. And coaches for a rival football club. Friends mostly, but foes on the field.

Grrrrr.

And a few more friend/rivals:

Ran into my Tuskegee classmates at football certification last week. Danielle D. is my Tuskegee chapter soror. Their son plays on the team one year up from Zachary's . Otherwise I would have been mean mugging in this photo.

Ha.

Speaking of which. . . .

Here's some random mean mugs from Chris M. and Kyle P. after small group Tuesday. What's funny is that they are the nicest two dudes you could ever meet.

And speaking of nice. . .

Sweet Leilah Z. who is now a bona fide OB/Gyn resident. She was just my medical student last spring and look at her now. She's a special one. I snapped this after running into her in the elevator the other day. It made me so happy to see her.

And speaking of happy to see someone. . . .

These big smiles followed the sublime meeting that had just taken place between this student and me. Shareene L. is a 3rd year student and just a remarkable soul. We'd been trying to meet up for some time and finally did. Our thirty minute meeting lasted well over an hour.

 I'm so lucky to get to do this.

 And this:

Trader Joes on a Sunday. The best.

A regular quote in our house used to break up arguments:

Us: "Hey! What do brothers do?"

Them, in unison: "Stick together."

These images are proof that they get that.

Yes. More mean mugs. Why? Why not?

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

And speaking of afraid. . . .

Zachary demonstrating the Nae Nae dance for me. Ribs sold separately.

And Isaiah just hanging out between his mom's knees like he did when he was very little. I loved it.

Speaking of "loved it". . . . 

Spotted this at back to school night this week in a folder. Who knew?

Not me.

My colleague-friend-fellow Grady doctor Wendy A. was giving a lecture to the medical students last Friday. Her small group sat on the front row and surprised her by wearing these shirts. These are the types of things people want to do for you when you put in time over time.

 

A very thoughtful gift given to me last year on the one year date after Deanna's passing. A tiny bottle of red glitter, commemorating the last day I saw her alive. That was a very happy day. She and the kids were covered in red glitter working on a project. On the day I took this picture, I was missing Deanna very much. Then I looked and saw this bottle of glitter sitting in a special place in my office. My tears immediately dried up and I felt happy inside. 

I can think of few things more thoughtful, moving, or attentive than this. Lesley M.? Thank you, my friend. You are a true Ruth indeed and this has comforted my soul on many a day.

Lastly, this:

Yes. Sweet dreams are made of this. This right here.

Live. Love. Savor. Repeat.

Life is good.

***
Happy Thursday-almost-Friday.

Good morning. You are loved. That is all.

My friend lost her one of her children. Right before the start of school which, since he was an adult, has different meaning than what you might think about. But this morning, it has very significant meaning to me. And likely to her, his mother.

One because she works in a school where everyone knows her. Her waving hand is, to us, a monument. As recognizable as the Statue of Liberty with, literally, that same outstretched arm signaling to all that they are welcomed. But, more than that, there will always be these sights and sounds of new academic year energy that, instead of creating joy for her, will now punctuate the worst day of her life. I hate that. Partly because I personally associate her with that new-grade-level joy that I feel each year. But mostly because I care for her deeply and consider her a Ruth now. . .  which means I have willingly signed up for a piece of her pain, too.

That's how it works.

You know? She did that for me. Said very little but always, always showed me through her hugs and her eyes and her gentle, unassuming love that she was willing to hold on to a piece of my pain, too. And she did.

But.

This is different. She is a mother and this was her son. I have always been careful not to equate that horrifically unnatural trauma to that of losing a sibling. It is not the same. Ask any parent who has been inducted into that awful club. On second thought, don't ask them. Just take my word on it as someone who has seen it in three dimensions.

Seen it. Not lived it.

And so. I look for ways to let her know that I will hold a piece of this for her. Even if it is a tiny piece. I will take very good care of it and protect it. And then, when she thinks I've forgotten, I will present it back to her as something new. An invitation to speak of him when she desires. To laugh out loud about some funny quirk or unforgettable experience. Or bring him up and say his name without that awkward, lonely cloak suffocating it all. To let her know that it won't be weird to me if she can't speak of him in past tense because that part I do understand. And hopefully, just a heart open to give her a chance to celebrate her favorite things about him long after the casseroles have stopped arriving on doorsteps.

Or at least I'll try.

But for now, this morning, I simply said this in a text message to her:

"Good morning. You are loved. That is all."

Because when someone is living through the worst days of their life, this is, perhaps, all you can give. Love, shown through presence, silence, the eyes, and the tiny gestures. Recognition for the magnitude of the horror, but not so much so that you leave them isolated. No. Just love. The very understated love she showed me during those days when our lives stood still.

Yeah.

***
Happy Thursday. Love will always be the what.

The extra mile.

My best friend is a woman named Lisa D. We met on a warm summer day in July of 1992 during our medical school orientation week. Me, a new alumnus of Tuskegee University, and her, proudly sharing that she was a  product of Hampton University. Beyond both schools being historically black colleges, this should have been some foreshadowing of our futures. Tuskegee and Hampton are "sister and brother" schools because a unique connection--Booker T. Washington, the founder of Tuskegee, was a Hamptonian -- just like Lisa.

Yep.

We became fast friends. And since that time, our friendship has weathered the test of time. We have laughed harder than any two people can together and have cried the most soul-stirring, gut-wrenching cries imaginable. We have celebrated each other, disappointed one another, agreed on just about everything and completely couldn't see eye-to-eye on anything. But still. Like the pillar that it is, the friendship always remains.

Yesterday we ran a 15K race together. In the early morning chill, we laughed and chatted and talked about everything and nothing. We reminisced on things and talked about the future. And for nine miles and some change we did what we have done since 1992--create lasting memories out of everyday occurrences. It was easy and awesome.

Our time together NOT that hellaciously hilly course we ran.

Ahem.

But, then again, I guess that's a good metaphor because really, really good and true friendships that transcend into sisterhoods can be hellaciously hilly at times, too. Life changes like marriage and kids and break-ups and make-ups and, for us, medical school and residencies and jobs and so much more redefines things as you know them from time to time. That can feel uphill sometimes. But there comes a point with each of those swells when you know you've come over the mountain. And once you've done that enough you know that you always will.

No matter what.

After the race we had breakfast at a cute little neighborhood bistro. Our forks crossed over from plate to plate as usual and our conversation crossed over from topic to topic, too. And over a sun dried tomato omelet and a most interesting interpretation of Eggs Benedict we agreed that we were thankful for moments like these. And a friendship like this.

I've said it before and I will say it again: Women need women to survive. To be our best and to be whole, we do. Our husbands are not enough. And to those who find women to be somehow less palatable as friends? Or who "don't really have too many women" as friends? Hmmm, If the person who says that is herself a woman, I say beware. That's what I say.

Women need women friends. Really good and true ones. Ones that will run hard up the most hellaciously hilly courses with you and go the extra mile.

I have that. And I'm glad.

***
Happy Monday.

The Book of Ruths.

"Beware of the woman with no woman-friends. For reals."

~ Kimberly Manning

I will never forget the morning I awoke after Deanna passed away. I just lay there spread eagle on my back and staring at the ceiling. I blinked my eyes and then looked from side to side without even moving my head or my body. The room looked like it always looked in the morning. The sun was hitting the floor in the same places and the socks I'd fallen asleep in had been kicked off and shoved to the bottom of the bed like usual. I wondered if, just maybe, all of this was a bad dream.

Then I heard something buzzing on the nightstand. I rolled toward the sound and spotted my cell phone plugged into the power strip and sitting face down. The clock behind it read 6:23 a.m. I tried to tell myself that a text message this early could be related to a patient. I mean, technically, it could. Which would make perfect sense if Deanna not being here was all a horrible nightmare, right?

Just as I reached for the phone, it vibrated again with another text message. And then again. When I pressed the button to see the screen, it was covered with text messages. Before I could even swipe the front and enter the passcode, it gyrated another two times. It became apparent to me that this wasn't a dream at all. This was my new reality.

Now.

That part isn't so much what I'm reflecting on this morning. Instead I'm thinking of that screen covered with those messages and from whom they came. I will tell you: My women-friends. Okay, now in all fairness to my dear, dear men-friends, I did hear from them, too. But the first ones to reach out to me--to call me, to see me, to hug me? My women-friends.

Yes.

That? That is making me cry this morning. It is because there was nothing I wanted more than to be surrounded by my women-friends. Or, better yet, my sisterfriends as I've always called them. It goes without saying that I wanted to be with my family but my sisterfriends? Damn, I needed them. Damn, I did. I didn't even know how much I did, but I did. And they came through. Physically and virtually, they did.

I've said this here before but it bears repeating. Women need women to survive. They do. And every person who reads this blog knows how much I love my husband and my father and my brother and my boys. They are necessary components to my life being rich and good but for me to be my very best human being, they are not enough. Women need women. In good times and bad times, we do. But let me tell you -- when the darkness falls like it did for me in November of 2012? I cannot even begin to explain to you how glad I was that I had a cadre of really good sisterfriends fully prepared to fly to my side.

I call them my "Ruths."

Let me explain. One of my favorite books, if not my favorite book, in the bible is the Book of Ruth. It tells the story of a woman named Naomi who'd become widowed. She and her husband had two sons and, before her husband's passing, had left their hometown (Bethlehem in Judah) to raise their boys in this country called Moab. Anyways, once her husband passed, Naomi stayed there in Moab with her boys who grew into men. Her sons met and married women who were originally from Moab and everything was cool.

Well, as fickle fate would have it, both of those sons preceded not only their wives but poor Naomi in death, too. So now, here she was with her two daughters-in-law in this land that wasn't actually her original stomping ground.

You with me? Okay, cool.

So check it. The two D-I-Ls were, as the bible tells it, really good to Naomi. Before the sons died, it sounds like it was all good in the Moab hood. They probably cooked, baked and yucked it up together every chance they got. And even though they had their husbands to take care of, those women saw about Naomi since they knew that she was their husbands' mama and that seeing about your husband's mama is the right thing to do.

Yeah, it is.

But Naomi's sons' deaths were untimely. They were young and so were their wives. And Naomi had already had her darkest days so she was ready to get up out of Moab. And since Naomi was a selfless woman and not at all a "monster-in-law" she looked at those two women with the straightest, calmest expression ever and said, "Go on back to your mothers' homes. You're young and you have a whole life ahead of you, okay? Find new husbands, have kids, and all that good stuff. I'm good."

And Naomi meant that. She did. In fact, she loved those two women so much that she referred to them lovingly and repeatedly as "my daughters" and kissed them when she said those words.

Well. Those two women--whose names were Orpah and Ruth--loved Naomi right back. And yes, as a sidebar, I mean to write "Orpah" and not "Oprah." Turns out Oprah Winfrey's parents thought they were naming her after Orpah-in-the-Book-of-Ruth. . . . but they spelled it wrong. Which, you have to admit, is kind of funny.

But I digress.

So yeah. Orpah and Ruth start hysterically crying and insisting that they are going to stay with Naomi and go back to Bethlehem with her. And if this were 2013, I bet they'd say something like, "We're rocking with you, Mama Naomi!"

To which Naomi would give them both windshield wiper index finger and say, "Y'all are tripping. What are y'all gonna do with me? I'm older and ain't trying to get remarried or re-impregnated. So what I'm saying is--go live your lives. I'm gonna be fine."

And the impression I get is that Naomi was beyond childbearing age but young enough where she could mostly care for herself. So it wasn't like she was super needy or anything. That said, she'd had enough of Moab and needed to get back to the hometown.

So what happened next? Well, they kept hysterically crying but eventually Orpah tearfully tears herself away from Naomi probably like Sister did when she was leaving Miss Celie in The Color Purple. But yeah, Orpah eventually took Naomi's words to heart and headed back to her own mama's home.

But that Ruth. She was a hardheaded little thing. She ice-grilled Naomi and told her straight up:

"Where you go, I will go and where you stay, I will stay."

Or, in other words, "Hell no, I won't go."

And no matter what Naomi did, Ruth wouldn't leave her. Her loyalty was so radical that Naomi eventually realized that it was no use even trying to fight her anymore.

So the story goes on where Ruth basically goes to Naomi's hometown and gets a some really tough physical labor gig to keep the lights on. Or rather the oil lamps lit. You get the picture. And what's cool is that everybody kind of looked out for Ruth and opened doors for her since they'd heard about how she'd held down her mother-in-law when, really, nobody could have blamed her for looking out for number one.

There's more to the story but I've covered my favorite parts of it. I always look back at that story and think to myself that Orpah really did nothing wrong. She was loyal and loving and visibly upset by the idea of leaving Naomi. But Ruth's loyalty to Naomi? That was some radical shit right there. That was  I-got-yo-back on a whole 'nother level. Yeah, it was.

So the morning after I woke up on November 16, 2012, I needed some radical support, man. I heard from my Orpahs--I did. But what truly sustained me was my Ruths. Does that even make sense? I hope so.

And no. My Ruths aren't leaving their families for me or anything. But like Naomi could surely attest, my Ruths are the ones that make me feel safest and most secure. The ones that inconvenience themselves sometimes and who love like it was what they were born to do. Who love and protect instinctively without overthinking it or making me feel pressure. They stand behind you and hold you up with both hands, hiding behind your silhouette and not minding that you look strong when you really aren't.

You know what else? They make room for your other Ruths. In fact, they welcome them. And none of it feels heavy or contrived or extra or lumpy. It's not insecure or overanalyzed or uncomfortable. It just is. And that? That is what I needed that day more than anything in the world.

You know why? Because Deanna and JoLai have always been my original Ruths. And even when I haven't deserved it, they have been. I swear that I've been an Orpah more than once to both of them, yet they have always, always been radically supportive and loving. Always. And those women taught me how to be a Ruth to others. They did.

And let's be very clear one something--I am specifically not naming my mother in this -- not because she has not been all of these things to me -- but because a mother's love is otherworldly and should be ultra-radical by definition. Lucky for me, my mother's love always has been. So I guess it makes sense that my original Ruths came from that same woman, right? Yeah.

So my point is . . . losing one of my original Ruths was like losing one of my arms. I didn't even know where to start, man. I would do things that require two arms and forget. I would reach for something and be shocked back into this new harsh one-armed reality.

But that's the thing about your Ruths. They know already. It's in them to be there for you and to make you feel safe. Even when you can't articulate what you need, they are thinking ahead. Or maybe they aren't thinking. They're just being.

Sigh. I'm rambling, I know.

I know I am. But I also know that I am so effing fortunate to be able to wake up knowing that my world is filled with not just one but many Ruths. And when I think of my successes and my survival I know that were I to write it all down and put it in a book it would be just that -- The Book of Ruths. Not just one radical woman but many. And isn't that some really, really wonderful shit when you think about it? I mean, just isn't it?

Yeah, man.

Look. It's November 1, 2013. The leaves are breaking away and the sky is bluer. Green leaves have turned reddish orange and my friends are sending me text messages asking about our Homecoming weekend. Just like that morning last November, their messages remind me that Deanna dying really happened. That bands will still play and alumni will still sing fight songs. The sunlight will hit the same places and my socks will still be crumpled under the comforter. But unlike last year, this November and this Homecoming, Deanna will not be here in the flesh. She won't.

 

And all of it means that -- just like I did then and just like I do every day-- I am going to need my Ruths more than ever. And you know what? They'll be there. That I know for sure.

Yeah.

16 But Ruth replied, “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. 17 Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.” 18 When Naomi realized that Ruth was determined to go with her, she stopped urging her.   ~ Ruth 1:16 - 18

Shout out to my Ruths. You know who you are.

***
Happy Friday. May you recognize your Ruths. . . and never be Ruth-less. . . yeah.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . the song Isaiah was singing in the car on the way to school right after he said, "Today is November 1 and November is the month that Auntie died."  Somehow hearing his 8 year-old heartfelt rendition of this song made me feel more glad than sad and hearing those lyrics inspired this post.



Sister and Celie being separated by Mister in The Color Purple. How I imagine Ruth and Orpah when they were being separated from Naomi. . . and further underscoring the kind of radical love and loyalty it took for Ruth to remain by her side.