Heavy.

"So on we go
His welfare is my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know he will not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother"

~ Donny Hathaway

Today I am thinking about trust. I am thinking about how although folks often talk about how little some people trust their doctors-- that there are a lot of folks that put a whole, whole bunch of trust in their doctors. And not just any kind of trust, but that save your life kind of trust.  Like, I know you've got my back no matter what kind of trust.

Compound that with being a black woman on the front lines of a county hospital and it gets even more complex. Like, you get me so you know deep down what I'm afraid of kind of trust. Like, I know you wouldn't let nothing happen to me on your watch kind of trust. 'Cause you get me. 'Cause I'm your auntie and your uncle and your sister and your granddaddy. 'Cause I'm your mama'nem and your Mudear and your play cousin. And sometimes, it's heavy.  Real heavy.

'Cause even though they are thinking those things, they aren't alone. I am, too.  I am thinking, you can trust me. I am touching your hand and using your language in a way that says, I do get you and I do know what you are afraid of deep down. And even though sometimes it's unrealistic, I am feeling, no, I won't let nothing happen to you on my watch. Even if it's out of my control.

So I pray. A lot. To fill in the gaps that reading journals and calling consults can't cover.

And today? After all of that, I stood in a bathroom stall and cried. Because a lot of times it is out of my control. And sometimes things do happen. Even on my watch. And today, it was heavy.  Real heavy.

So thankful I'm being carried, too.

***

"If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Is not filled with gladness
Of love for one another. . ."

Dad, do you remember when you played this Donny Hathaway song for me when you drove me to medical school across the country? I know you don't. But I do. Especially today, I do. . . . playing on my mental iPod. . . listen and you'll feel me.