Thelmas and Louises.

Look out weekend. Here we come.

Push it.

"Because it's hard. And 'cause right now I can't."

~ Zachary "Zack" Manning

"Mom? I think when I get a little bit older, like when I'm maybe eight or seven-and-a-half, I want to run the 800. And then, when I get like ten or eleven, I'm want to run the 1500, too."

This was Zachary's declaration that he shared so matter-of-factly from the back seat on our way home from track practice the other day. The same kid whose coach has referred to him as "a natural" when it comes to sprinting and also one who was "made for the 100 and 200 meter races." Yep. The same kid.

"Really, son?" I replied. "That's interesting considering how fast you sprint and how much you like the shorter distances."

"I'm still gonna do the 100 and the 200. And the 400 sometimes or like on a relay," he responded. "The 100 and the 200 are my favorite ones, mama."

I glanced into the rear-view mirror and smiled as I noticed his post-track ritual of pulling his shoes off one at a time. "Are you having fun, Zachary? I mean, with track are you?"

"Yes, mama." He made sure to look directly into the mirror when he said that so I'd know he meant it.

"Good."  I was really happy to hear that because that particular day seemed to be an unusually tough practice. The team was running drills and pushing themselves in ways that I don't ever remember being pushed as a kid. And as I sat on the bleachers with the other parents, I was careful to keep my eye on my own little prize out there. Making certain to keep an inventory of his face and body language to make sure it wasn't too much.

But Zachary--or rather "Zack?"  He was in his element. 100%.

I kept watching him and began to marvel at how intensely disciplined he is with sports. It's almost like he has a tiny little "Mick" in his ear--like Rocky Balboa had in his face--urging him to keep going and to not quit. His little face gets so determined and focused and, when speaking to his coaches, he is careful and deferential.

We'd gotten a late start that evening so practice was running a little later than usual. The kids, ranging from kindergartners up to middle schoolers, were starting to get cranky. A few of the smaller ones had already melted down and were whining in ways that were completely age-appropriate. Finally, the coach dismissed the little ones and instructed the seventh and eight graders to do one more 400 around the track before leaving. "And push it!" he added as they took off.

A few moments later, from the corner of my eyes I saw Zack and another little girl on his team talking to each other while finishing the last chug-o-lugs from their water bottles. The other little kids were already over to the bleachers with their parents and preparing to leave. I started gathering my things--an iPad, a medical journal, and People magazine--and getting ready to take off, too. I bent down to tie my own shoe and then slung Zachary's backpack over my shoulder. With a yawn, I squinted my eyes to make out what was taking my child so long to join his departing peers.

And then, this.

Those able-bodied seventh and eight graders had made that final curve and were flying down the track on the last 100 meters of that last lap. It was a beautiful sight . . . really. The work they'd been putting in was underscored in their both their envious muscle tone and the way they floated across that track like gazelles.

"Bring that chin down!"

"Use your arms!"

"Stretch it out!"

"Push it to the end!"

Those were the things that the coaches were calling out to them and you could see those lithe bodies chastening in response. As each crossed the line, they quickly decelerated and leaned over onto their knees in tripod positions to grab as much oxygen as they could.


"You can't tell those two anything, can you?"

At first, I didn't know what this other mother meant by that. But seconds later, I did.

Two little bodies came bounding around the last stretch of the track, faces forward and arms pumping like tiny pistons. One with three pony tails whipping behind her like kite ribbons and the other? Zachary.

The coaches and all of the older kids started laughing and clapping.

"Bring that chin down, Zack!"

"Use your arms, little mama!"

"Stretch it out, y'all!"

"Push it in, y'all!"

And they did. Those two little ones had made the executive decision to do that last 400 meter run, too.

Their faces were beaming when they finished. The coaches and all of the other kids remaining offered them high fives and slaps on the back. And all of it was really endearing. It was.

So on the way home, like always, Zachary (a.k.a. Zack), chattered about the highs and lows of practice. What's funny is, though this was probably the most demanding of the practices I've taken him to, he seemed to be in higher spirits than ever. Almost euphoric.

"So yeah, mama. I'm gonna run the 800 next year. That's two times around the track, you know. And you can't run as fast as you can at the beginning or you'll get tired. Coach said you have to save it up and then push it at the end."

"I see."

"If you run, like super-duper fast at the beginning, you get too tired then you go slow at the end."

"Makes sense."

"And you really have to save it up if you run the 1500, mama. Like really, really, really save it up!"

"Hmmm."

I drove in silence for a few moments and thought about Zachary and this newfound sport. I wondered the things that parents wonder. .  . . like. . .is this too much? Is it fun for him? Am I robbing him of something? Is this worth the time commitment even? I glanced up into the mirror again where I caught Zachary drinking a mini-Gatorade and staring out of the window. His face was content and he looked happy.

Track was something we found because he wanted to do it. "I want to get my wind up for football and basketball," he said to us. That made us laugh, but when he looked hurt by our response, we knew he was serious. This was a calculated plan for him. A part of this innate discipline he seems to possess when it comes to conditioning his body as an athlete.

Even at six years old.

I bit the inside of my cheek and let that marinate for a few seconds. This? The "go hard or go home" mentality? That's something he got more from his father than from his mother. And I smiled at that thought because it's something I've gotten a lot of from him, too.

"Hey Z?"

"Yes, mama?"

"Why do you want to run the 800 or the 1500? You always say that you don't like the longer distances because you like to sprint. Mom is just wondering what made you change your mind and want to run those races, too? The 800 and the 1500?"

"Because it's hard. And 'cause right now I can't."

He took one more swig of the Gatorade, flashed me a big red mustache grin, and went back to looking out of the window.

"Because it's hard. And 'cause right now I can't."

Damn.

***
Happy Friday.

Thoughts to chew on: What limits are you pushing? What are you aspiring to do that's hard and that, right now, you can't? Personally? Professionally? Physically? Period? 

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . as a reminder to push it!



P.S. Zachary told me that it's Zack with a 'k' because that's how you spell "track." Ummm, yeah.

Commencement Day, virtual and otherwise.

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun

And I say, It's alright.

~ The Beatles

Whelp. The day has officially come and gone. After four years of working with, getting to know, and helping to grow our medical students, the time finally came for them to cross that stage, receive their diplomas, and sign their names into the alumni book with the suffix "M.D." Yep. And yes, you know how mushy I can get about these things, so I will do my best to keep this light. I mean, I'll try.

Man. The day was so spectacularly gorgeous. It was rather balmy and surprisingly cool which was the perfect companion for the cloudless sky we woke up to that morning. Instead of driving, I slung my academic regalia over my arm, tucked my high heels into my bag and walked to campus in flip flops and shades. Sure did. I snapped the picture above on that stroll because I wanted to remember how good I felt at that moment. I was totally hearing George Harrison's timid voice singing that gentle hook on my mental iPod. . . .

Here comes the sun (doo doo doo doo)
Here comes the sun
And I say, It's alright. 
(insert me singing the guitar and drum parts, too.)

Sigh. Love that song. I think it's my favorite Beatles' tune actually.

Anywho.

Ever since I got appointed as a Society Advisor at our medical school, I've looked at Commencement Day completely different. For me, when one of my advisees is graduating, it feels like Christmas morning when I wake up. There are flutters in my stomach and I feel so excited that sometimes I can hardly sleep. I'm not kidding.

Emory does this really cool thing where the academic advisors affix their small group students with their doctoral hoods. So, literally, the students in my small groups that I've known and taught since their very first day of medical school, stand face to face with me just seconds after having their names called as "doctor" for the very first time.

First day of medical school and first day I ever met them (7/2009)

Talk about a full circle moment.

Hooding Dan W.

Hugging Dan W.

And if you are wondering if it is highly emotional for me, the answer is yes. Now admittedly, it's isn't quite as bad as match day in terms of my tear to snot ratio. Most of my ugly crying is reserved for the day I learn that my "kids" have officially secured gainful employment. But this? This moment is emotional in a stealthier way. No one is ripping open an envelope and screaming at the top of their lungs. There's no surprises or shocking revelations. But what does happen is that, in those few seconds where they stand before you, those years that you watched them grow up fly before your eyes. And, for me, that means those eyes will soon become tearful.

With Doris K.

This year, Doris started it. She looked me in the eyes, hers already wet with tears, and said, "Thank you so much for everything you've done for me. Thank you so, so much." And I looked at this beautiful brown girl standing in front of me and felt my chest swell with so much pride that it couldn't be contained. She looked so strong and beautiful and confident. In those years, she'd become a wife and a mother and now, a doctor.

With Marla W.

"No, thank you for making me so proud," I whispered back as we hugged. And since she was the first of my small group advisees to cross the stage, I knew that my emotional state would only worsen with each hooding. We'd even planned as a group to fist bump before hugging to keep me from becoming a blubbering mess.

It didn't work.

With Jenna M.

Yeah. It's just such an awesome thing to get to do. To be there from the first day and to get the chance to be there again on the last day in such a significant way.

Well. Now this is Kevin S. and though he is not in my small group, he is every bit as dear to me. Though I didn't hood him, I shed my share of Kevin-related tears after commencement.  I've spoken of him before, so you know I think the world of him. We always saw each other and talked so often that when I was talking to him in the atrium that day and preparing to leave, it dawned on me that he was moving away to Boston. Instead of our regular, "See you next week!" -- it instead was punctuated by me stopping mid-sentence. I'm really going to miss Kevin.

On a funnier note, my friend and fellow Grady doctor, Wendy A., was also one of Kevin's mentors. We've always affectionately referred to him as "our boy". . . almost like he was our son. That always felt right since we both felt equal amounts of pride for all he's done and will do.

"Man! We totally need to have another baby together, Wendy!" I laughed. "Our first born came out pretty damn awesome." And that made Wendy, Kevin, and me laugh out loud.

But seriously. We are going to find us another baby to adopt and raise together in the next few months. Stay tuned for that. Hee hee.

What else? Oh!

Remember this guy that I mentioned last week on my thankful list? In case you forgot, this is Ira S., one of my colleagues in the School of Medicine. Actually, he's more like an awesome mentor-friend that, as you already know, I deeply, deeply heart to the umpteenth power.

He's also a kick ass teacher.

So guess what? My Ira lovefest was timely because it makes this part require less background information. Ira S. was awarded the Evangeline Papageorge Distinguished Teaching Award for 2013! Woo hooooo!

Y'all! He was SO surprised. I mean, he's such a humble dude that it never even occurred to him that this would be something he'd win -- which made it all the better when he did. They asked former recipients of the award to stand, and when they did, Ira was applauding super hard and nodding in the directions of those standing with this affirming Ira-like expression on his face. You could have mopped him right up off of the floor when they called his name.

I love that our students and the alumni association chose to recognize him. It's the highest teaching award bestowed upon a teacher at Emory School of Medicine and I cannot think of a more deserving soul than Ira. He's amazing and the embodiment of everything this honor describes.

Ira S.

Yay and yay.

Oh--and the other yay is for Ira's wife Janet S., who is every bit as awesome as he is. All I'll say about her is that she makes me love Ira even more. I am enchanted by smart and thoughtful people. Janet S. is like that.

Team S.

I heart this picture of them so much. The expression on Ira's face will always remind me of the conversation that Janet, him and I had just had before I snapped it. And that conversation was a very, very good one that I'll cherish always.

Yeah.

And you know what else was super sweet? Several of his former students came in support of him. They somehow got wind of the win and came as his "family" since his own kids were out of town. And those students are now busy resident physicians and chief residents who did whatever it took to be there.

Grady Chief Residents Victor and Francois, and intern, Jen S.

And since I know what Ira means to them, too, and what it likely took for them to make it to graduation, this snapshot I took of them standing at the back of the chapel sort of makes me want to cry every time I look at it.

Sigh.

Oh. Here's a few more lovely shots taken with my trusty iPhone.

This one is of Yewande A. She was the recipient of the student version of the Evangeline Papageorge Award. It's the highest honor any student can be given by her classmates at commencement. She's so, so awesome. I was so happy for her I cried when she won that award last week.

I guess me crying is becoming less and less of a shock, huh?

With Dan W.'s whole family who taught me how to say "Congratulations" in Mandarin to his Grandmother.

She'll be doing a combined residency in Emergency Medicine and Internal Medicine. Wow!

Oh, and this:

Yes! This!

This is Bryan O. -- who I've also talked about here before. I don't have a picture of it, but Bryan O. was selected by his class to deliver the student address at Commencement. Can I just say he BROUGHT IT? He truly put his heart and soul into that speech. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

Here's our text exchange after:

Yes. That was his "Firestarter" speech. (The inside joke on that is that I recently gave a lecture this year to the fourth-year/graduating students for what's referred to as the "Firestarter" lecture. The requirement of it is really to inspire people and, well, ignite something in them. My friend the Profesora in Pittsburgh was the very first one to ever give one in 2011--a super tough act to follow!)

Congratulating the profesora after the inaugural "Firestarter" lecture--AWESOME! Hello?

Right before my "Firestarter" lecture 2 years later. . . 

Oh. Where was I? Bryan's speech. Yes. Dude. I wish you could have heard it. He killed it. He was such a responsible steward of the time he was given. He was. I've gotten to know him quite well over the last year. I felt so lucky that I did. Yes. That dude started some fires, do you hear me? The Profesora in Pittsburgh would have approved that message for sure.

I'll keep the light on for you, Dr. O!

And lastly, this:

I think I mentioned before that 5 of my 8 members of Small Group Beta were graduating this year. (The others took additional time for other academic endeavors such as research and Masters' degrees.) Anyways. This photo includes four of those five. The fifth person? He isn't pictured. And no, it wasn't because he was gone to the mens room. It's because he wasn't there for graduation.

At least, not physically he wasn't.

Mark G. had to leave right after finishing classes to go and be with his parents overseas. One of his parents is under treatment for a serious health issue that limited their travel to the US for the  commencement exercises of their only child.

Yep.

But man, oh man. Mark was so mature about it. He simply expressed that this moment was more for his parents than him and that he'd rather be with them than anywhere else. Even if it meant missing his medical school graduation. Man. And yeah, he was the first to admit that it would be a bummer to miss this but was even faster to admit that it would be even more of one to be there without his parents. No one had to twist is arm or any such thing. He was strong in his resolve and remarkably fine with the idea. I think his attitude made it easier for them. I'm sure they were more disappointed than he was, and isn't it just remarkable that they raised a son who knows what's really important?

Damn. I was proud of him when he told me that. It would be bittersweet but I was glad that he was sticking to what has always been a mantra for our small groups:

"Family is always first."

Yep. Which is really just something to remind us not to ignore those that matter or to make poor choices  because we don't prioritize correctly. Kind of like I did as a student when I missed Deanna's law school graduation because I "had to study."

Uuuhhh, yeah.

But still. After knowing him for four full years, even though he was being a grown up about this, I still wanted him to have his pomp and circumstance moment. I did. I also wanted his parents to have it, too. Mark's biggest concern was his parents and how much they'd looked forward to this. There had to be something we could do. There just had to be.

There was.

With the help of some Small Group Beta, one of our deans (Thanks, Dean Eley!) and a few others, we were able to create what I affectionately refer to as "Mark's Virtual Med School Graduation" -- aptly to the tune of "Here Comes the Sun." And can I say that I felt every bit as proud of his moment as all of the others?

Mark gave me permission to share it with you. Even better than these photos above, it gives you a good idea of what Commencement Day is like at Emory University School of Medcine-- and also why I always feel those flutters in my stomach . . . and those tears pooling in my eyes. . . year after year.

Thank you, Mr. George Harrison, for the perfect soundtrack to this perfect day. Consider enlarging the video to see it better (and ignore the giddy lady at the beginning because she didn't get much sleep the night before.)

Commencement 2013 from Kimberly Manning on Vimeo.

Best. Job. Ever.

***
Happy Commencement Week. Virtual and otherwise.

And remember: Family is always first. Virtual and otherwise.

They have commenced.

It just never gets old.

***
Happy Commencement Day. More on this very proud celebration to follow, okay? Still working to wrap my mind and heart around it. . . . .

Mostly beautiful.

Mama I just want you to know 
Lovin' you is like food to my soul 

~ Boys II Men

_________________________________________________________

You do know that I know right? I mean, you do realize that I could feel you thinking of her and wondering how this day was, don't you? Like in between the hugs and joy of your own, I could feel your fleeting thoughts about how a day like this plays out for a mother who has lost her child.

I know.

And since I know that you were thinking and praying and wondering and hoping, I want to first say thank you for that. Then I want you to know that the day was mostly beautiful. I can't call it "perfect" because, although the weather here was just that, there will never be a Mother's Day that we describe with that word as long as Deanna isn't here with us physically. But we can call it things like "wonderful" and "loving" and "genuine." And all of those are mostly beautiful adjectives if you ask me.

We all loved on Shug. We sure did. JoLai had flown in from L.A. and we all surrounded her with so much love that she couldn't help but to feel it. And yes, we did that in the literal sense, but I know for certain that many of you surrounded her, too.

And those grandkids. Oh, those grandkids! They knew what to do. They did. And they did it. They sure did. Better than any of us could.

At one point, Mom asked us to take a photograph on the porch. "Me and my kids," she said. And up until then, it had all been mostly beautiful. Everyone was mostly laughing and joking and drinking mimosas. That is, the adults were. I admit that when Shug made that request, it didn't fully register for me until we went into the house trying to grab Will to step out on the porch to join us.

First, he kind of waved his hand as if he was't in the mood for more photographs. And, like Shug does when it comes to her family photo ops, she wasn't taking no for an answer. "Get him out here," she said. And at that point, it was mostly playful. And things were still mostly beautiful.

Will came to the door and the moment I saw his eyes I knew. I knew it was too much, too soon for him. And, in case I needed confirmation, he whispered it to JoLai and me.

"I'm just not ready to do this without Deanna. I'm not."

And I looked at Mom and said, "Hey, let's do it later, okay?" But she just looked at me and didn't say anything. Then, before anyone could say or do anything else, Will reemerged out of the front door. He had changed shirts and simply said, "If this is what Mommy wants, I can do it."

Right after that, JoLai stepped closer and I wrapped my arms around him and told him, "You don't have to do this right now. We understand." JoLai nodded in agreement. And that? That did it. He dropped his head onto my shoulder and just wept and wept. And JoLai encircled her arms around him, too, and we all had a good, hard sibling cry together. Towards the end of it, Shug joined into our hug and all of us just stood there on that porch holding onto each other as tightly as we could.

And you know? It was mostly beautiful. It was.

So yeah. We surrounded Shug and each other with love today. We did. We broke bread and talked and laughed and even fell asleep on sectionals as a family.

We jumped in the air and played Wii with cousins and rolled on grass and watched our favorite funny clips from Saturday Night Live that we all had seen before but never together.

And you know?

Since I know you were wondering. . . .

. . . .and thinking of us and hoping we were okay. . . . I just wanted you to know. . .

. . .it was mostly beautiful. It was. 

***
Happy Mother's Day.

Now playing for my mama and all of the mamas out there. . . .



and our LOL favorite SNL bit. . . "Stefon". . .absolutely hilarious.

Cloudy with a chance of medals.

I have this conversation no less than three times per week:

Them:  "Track and field?" 

Us:  "Yup."

Them: "So. . . .Zachary runs. . . like. . . track? Like. . . little kid track? I didn't even known that existed."

Us:  "Yup. It exists."

Them: "That's crazy."

Us:  "Not as crazy is you'd imagine, to be honest. But it is kind of a larger time commitment than other sports we've played."

Them:  "So. . .what's it like? I mean. . . . little kid track?" 

Us:  "Well let's see. It's actually a lot like big people track. Except with a bunch of little kids in spikes."

Them: "Wow."

Us:  "Yup."

No exaggeration.

Those clouds hung over our meet all morning today. Zachary was so nervous that his heats would get rained out. He warmed up with his teammates in the prep area with high knees and organized stretches. I overheard him asking his mates a few times, "Do you think I'll get to run?"

And his older, wiser eight year-old teammate answered with the resolve of Yoda. "Yeah, you'll get to run, Zack. I think it's gonna hold off until later."

Oh. Did I mention? At track and field, we are Zack. With a 'k.'

Uuuuhhh, yeah. . . . .okay.

Finally over the loud speaker:

"Calling all eight and under boys for the 100 meter and 200 meter sprints."

Eight year-old Yoda looked at my son and said, "Come on, Zack. Let's go get after it."

What "getting after it" looks like

Which is exactly what they did.

***

BTdubs. . . . no one caught me on video doing the "THAT'S MY BAAAAY-BEEEHHH!" proud-mama-funky-chicken-dance on the other side of the gate during this race . . . . but here's a reenactment in case you needed to see it for effect:

Hee hee.

***
Happy Little Kid Track Meet Saturday.

(Sorry for the Jim Carrey, Ms. Moon. I know how much he creeps you out. . . ha ha ha)

Continuity of caring.

I was walking through Grady the other day en route to the clinic. I strolled through the main hallway by the very-full financial counseling office and past the always-packed "Grady card" area. That corridor opens into this multilevel atrium and another main Grady entrance. On this particular early afternoon, there were people everywhere. Some in hurries. Others just waiting for something. And all of the rest somewhere in the middle.

"Hey there, doctor!"

I looked over and met the twinkling eyes of a middle-aged woman that I'd seen a few times before in the clinic. She was smiling this thousand watt smile; partly because she just seemed happy and partly because of the gold ornamentation on her teeth. Something about that smile made me immediately smile in return. "Well, hey there to you too, pretty lady!"

My reply was easy and familiar. Because that was the nature of this exchange and many such exchanges in the halls of Grady. Especially with people you know. But even with those you don't. She beamed when I called her "pretty lady" which made her only more beautiful to me.

"You doing alright today?" I asked in that rhetorical, small talky way.

On this day she was pushing a stroller with her grandson in the front and her pursed propped on the handles. "Yes, ma'am! Me and my grandbaby jest up here to get my medicines from the pharmacy that's all."

I looked down at his cherubic face and then back up at hers. "He looks like his granny."

"That's what everybody say. They say I wiped my face and then jest wiped his." She threw her head back and laughed when she said that part, and her laughter made her tiny Doppelgänger do the same. That made me chuckle, too. I put that on a mental post-it note for the next time I saw her.

And you know? That was that. Off she went with grandbaby in tow and on I shuffled through that crowd toward the Green Pod clinic.

"Miss Manning! Miss Manning!"

I hadn't even taken five more steps before hearing that. And I already knew from the tone of it that it was social and nothing more. I smiled even before I knew who it was.  Spinning around in the crowd, I tried to place where the voice was coming from.

"Miss Manning! Over here by the newspapers, sugar!"

And that "sugar" meant that this was a Grady elder. Once I turned toward the AJC newspaper table I confirmed it to be one of my FPs of all time. The minute we made eye contact, we both erupted into huge grins.

"Hey there, my friend!" My voice was exuberant--genuinely so--because I truly love this man. I love him in the way a doctor loves her patient. Especially the ones you've known for a long time. He was perched on a metal folding chair beside the man who sells the Atlanta Journal Constitution each morning. He was pretty much in the "salesman area" but that man in his blue AJC t-shirt didn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, my patient had his cane lying flat across the table beside all those newspapers and that salesman just continued on with his transactions as if this was no big deal. I bet that metal folding chair was his, too.

They weren't near me. In fact, that table and that metal chair were clear across the vestibule and since I know that my patient walks slowly, I knew there was no chance he'd be getting up to come to me. I also knew that, because of the nature of our relationship, he fully expected me to come over and give him a big hug and "see about him" even though we weren't at an appointment.

He was right to think that.

"What's going on, sir? I didn't see you on the schedule this week," I said once I reached him.

"My legs had this rash on 'em. But y'all seent it before, Miss Manning. 'Member? I had to see the skin doctor in Dermatology."

"Oh, good. They got you in pretty fast. That's good."

"Yeah. And they gave me some salve to put on it. But what's funny is that look like it's healing up with jest some time." And with that he rolled up his pants leg and showed me. Right there in the middle of the Grady lobby. And you know what? I looked at it and nodded my head because he was right. It did look better.

"I agree."

"I'm 'on still put this salve on it, though. Look like it won't hurt. What you think?" He handed me the tube of cream that he'd just filled at the Senior Pharmacy. I scanned the label and gave a shrug.

"This should be fine. Let's follow their advice since they saw you today, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alright then, sir." I reached down to hug him in his chair.

"You look so pretty today, Miss Manning."

"Awww. Thank you, sir."

Then he twisted his mouth and pointed at my leg. "Almost forgot to ask you. How your leg doing?"

"Sir?"

"Ya leg. The ankle that you was hobbling all about on that day from when you was running. 'Member you told me you was running too much?"

I was touched that he'd remembered. "Oh! Yes, that! I had what they call a stress fracture. But now it's all healed and I'm running again. Thank you so much for asking."

"Oh good, Miss Manning. You gon' be able to run your race? You know, the one for your sister that went home to be with the Lord?"

And something about him knowing and remembering and asking about that immediately made my face feel hot. Without warning my eyes started stinging with tears that I tried to blink back but failed to contain.

Here's the thing: I hadn't thought about whether or not I'd make that original race. Well, I take that back. I have thought about it and the answer is that I have set my sights on later races. But really, I haven't had to articulate that to anyone nor had I been asked so directly before then.

"It's hard, I know, Miss Manning. I know 'cawse I lost a lot of family including brothers and sisters. I know." And he reached out and squeezed my hand hard. I let him.

So I stood there holding his hand as he remained in that metal chair and didn't say much more for a few moments. Finally, I looked at him and said, "Thank you, Mr. L. Thanks for remembering."

"You special. I'm always gon' remember you, baby."

And that only made me want to cry more.

And so. I told him that I had postponed that race and that others would come and that I would be sure to tell him how it went. And he promised to let me know how that salve worked on that rash. And that was that.

With continuity of care, it is our job to remember our patients. On this day, I recognized from another perspective why that's so important to patients. It's because patients are people. And people like to be remembered. I call that continuity of caring. It goes both ways.

Yeah.

***
Happy Saturday.