Her: "Um. . . the family invited us to the funeral. Dr. Manning, how do you handle something like that?"
Me: "Like what?"
Her: "Like being invited to a patient's funeral."
Me: "When I am, I'm honored. So if I can go, I go."
Her: "You do?"
Me: "I do."
2/ Her: "Should I go?"
Me: "Do you want to go?"
Her: "I do."
Me: "Then let's go.”
Her: *smiles*
Me: *smiles back*
And so. On a wintry Saturday, we met up at our patient's church. And from the countless cars surrounding every inch of the building, the love was evident.
Yup.
3/ "Loooord...help me to hold out...until my change has coooome. . ."
Those are the words that the mass choir lifted over the sanctuary as loved ones walked down the center aisle into our patient's homegoing service that next day.
And those loved ones included us.
Yup.
4/ The casket was open when we came in.
Me: "Have you ever been to an open casket service?" She shook her head no. "Okay. If you don't want to do that, it's okay to just go and sit down."
Her: "Is it a sign of respect?"
Me: "You are here. That's already a sign of respect."
5/ Her: *staring at me* "Will you go down with me?"
Me: "Of course, I will."
*walk to casket arm in arm*
Her: *whispering* "She looks so peaceful, Dr. Manning. And pretty."
Me: "She does."
The choir kept singing:
"Looooord....help me to hold oooout......"
6/ The choir clapped and swayed. Their booming voices lifted higher.
Her: *whispering* "I notice that even though this is a funeral, the music is so upbeat. It isn’t somber."
Me: "This isn’t a funeral. This is a #homegoing celebration.”
A homegoing celebration.
7/ Me: “God loaned her to us on earth and has called her back home. That’s something to be happy about, especially when you've lived as long as she did."
Her: *looking at me*
Me: "I mean, it’s sad, yes. But happy, too. Does that make sense?"
Her: "It does."
The choir sang on.
8/ *watching processional continue*
Her: *whispering* "Is that all family?"
Me: "No. Those are clergy."
Her: "Oh."
Me: "And those ladies in white are the church Mothers."
They marched past us toward the front.
After the pastor spoke a few words, the room fell to a hush.
9/ Soft music began to play & a silky alto began to sing low and slow:
"I shall wear a crown. . . .I shall wear a crown. . . . when it's aaall over. . . when it's aaall over. . . "
The choir and attendees softly joined in. I could feel my student watching me as I sang along.
10/ Next, I glanced to my left and noticed a gentleman coming up the center aisle. The alto began to sing louder.
Just then, I saw that the man walking up was carrying something. It was a red velvet pillow with an actual crown in the center.
Yup.
I felt my breath hitch.
11/ The man slowed down and presented it to the family, all of whom rose from their seats.
Together, her adult children lifted the crown from the pillow, approached the casket, and affixed it to her head. Their shoulders trembled and their hands quivered as they did.
Whew.
12/ The mass choir amplified their voices higher, higher, louder, louder:
"I'M GONNA PUT ON MY ROBE AND TELL THE STORY HOW I MAAAADE IT OVER. . .SOOOON AS I GET HOOOOOOME. . . "
The voices fell to throaty hums as two men closed the casket. I closed my eyes and hummed, too.
13/ I swept back tears as family members shouted and moaned. Someone collapsed. And as sad as it was, mostly it was beautiful. So, so beautiful.
14/ Next came some reflections on her life which, miraculously, were all kept under 2 minutes. One person sang a spiritual unannounced. And to round things out, at least 1 minister on stage dozed off a little.
Okay, 2. And that was beautiful, too.
'Twas a homegoing indeed.
15/ At the very end, the pastor stepped back into the pulpit and asked everyone to rise and give praise for this wonderful life. And everyone stood up and did just that.
All of a sudden, a soloist on saxophone spontaneously burst from the band into the center of the church.
16/ Y'all! He poured his whole soul into that horn.
Then, as if planned, the choir began singing along. The organist and drummer jumped right in on cue. And everyone in that church who knew that song was on their feet singing in unison at the tops of their lungs.
Me included.
17/ Clapping, singing, tears streaming. But mostly, joy as we all sang together:
"IT COULD'VE BEEN ME | OUTDOORS | WITH NO FOOD | AND NO CLOTHES | ALL LEFT ALONE | WITHOUT A FRIEND | OR JUST ANOTHER NUMBER | WITH A TRAGIC END . .”
(Each line punctuated by "THANK YOUUUU. . ")
18/ We went on—all of us in that Black congregation singing, pointing, rejoicing:
“. . .AND I WANT TO SAY THANK YOU LORD FOR ALL YOU'VE DONE FOR ME!"
And this version--this exact, classic version--is the one that whole room sang.
Yeah, we did.
19/ And that? That was a sho nuff HOMEGOING. All making a joyful noise and celebrating this Grady elder who held out for over 4 score on this earth and finally made it over.
Even my student who didn't know any of the words or the songs. . . .
. ..but who felt them all.
20/ And the best part was at the end. When the family caught a glimpse of their mother’s student doctor in the midst of that crowd.
Whew.
They all came straight to her. Thanked her for her exceptional care. And enveloped her in love.
Damn, it was beautiful. And perfect.
21/ And this? This is among the many reasons why I, a Black descendant of slavery survivors, born to 2 Alabama natives & educated at 2 HBCUs, feel so damn grateful to be teaching medical students and residents at Grady Hospital.
As my whole, Black self.
Yes, indeed.
22/ None of that experience could be learned in a classroom or in a book. But I know for sure that this experience left that student forever changed as a future physician.
“Bad intentions aren’t a prerequisite for something to be considered a #microaggression.”
Funny how our own words and lessons can come back to tap us on the shoulder.
Let me explain.
2/ All of our luggage was clustered near the front porch. It was about five minutes to the hour that we had to be fully vacated from the house that we’d rented for spring break.
Everyone was scrambling about and making sure we had everything after a lazy week of relaxing.
Yup.
3/ The hatch was up on the back of my car and my teen son was loading in bags with me.
That’s when I noticed a gentleman walking toward me from what appeared to be a truck filled with cleaning items. I could see that he was accompanied by some others gathering what they’d need.
Me: “Couple more updates—so I spoke our social worker. We’ve got some ways to help.”
You: *staring at me*
Me: “Also the pharmacist worked the stuff out with your insulin pen. They’ll be right over to help with that. Oh! And I found the pill box.”
*silence*
2/
Me: "You okay?"
You: "Yeah. I’m good.”
Me: "Okay. I thought maybe something was wrong.”
You fixed your eyes on me and shook your head. Hard.
Me: “What?”
You: *sigh* "I'm just tripping, that’s all."
Me: *squinting* "Tripping off of what?"
3/ You: "I was just thinking. . like every time I see y'all . . .everybody be hustling to help me. Almost like y’all really, truly give a shit about whether I live or die."
*silence*
I placed the pill container on the tray table and sat down.
1/ My patient died the other day. One often described as “cantankerous" and known for his legendary cuss-outs and kick-outs from his room.
And one who was sick.
"Cantankerous" by definition is:
bad-tempered
argumentative
uncooperative
A bad rap if you're a patient.
Yup.
2/ On my first day meeting him he told me to go away. Let me know he didn’t give a damn about me “needing to take a look” or “just give a quick listen.”
I explained that I was the senior doctor and he sucked his teeth hard. Then sighed and quickly had a comeback.
Mmm hmm.
3/ Him: “Well, how ‘bout you carry your 'senior doctor' self down to the cafeteria and talk to them 'bout my food!”
Me: “What’s wrong with your food?”
Him: *glaring* “What’s not?” He lifted the top on the plate and slammed it back down.
1/ I was talking to this person who said something that made me uncomfortable. The kind of thing that is best to think in your head instead of saying out loud.
Wait. I take that back.
I'm glad they said it out loud. Because sometimes it's good to know how people feel.
Yup.
2/ Them: "If I see one more article or hear 1 more presentation or podcast on anything related to racism or diversity, I'm going to pluck out my eyeballs."
They laughed when they said that. And me, who felt sort of ambushed by hearing this statement spoken out loud, just froze.
3/ Them: "Every journal. Every conference. Like, give me a break."
Me: *squinting* "Uuuuhhh. . . "
Them: "But come on. . .you have to admit that it's seriously out of control."
I still didn't know what to say.
I awkwardly stared and shrugged. As they continued to talk.
RN1: “I’ve known her since she was carrying them babies!”
RN2: “I’ve known her since she had all black hair and was fresh out of residency!”
*laughter*
Me: *patting my hair* “Well, if she knew me pre-grey, we have a winner for sure.”
We all laughed again.
2/ For me, they’d both become woven into the fabric of the Grady I know and love. Experienced nurses who’d already been around the block a few times before I even arrived back in 2001.
I was always happy to see them.
Always.
3/ RN1: “You have a patient here?”
Me: “Yes, ma’am.”
RN2: “Yeah, that’s my patient today.”
Me: *pretending to leave* “Oh, YOU have my patient? I’m good then.”
*laughter*
Even with her caramel complexion, her eyes told me that she was blushing from the compliment. I smiled.
That’s what you said when I asked your thoughts on getting a #COVIDVaccine. We both laughed—but the way you paused, then returned to your industrious task of clearing crumbs from the table made me know you weren’t joking.
Nope.
2/ I lifted my laptop on cue as your hand swept under it quickly and collected the crusty bread remnants into your other cupped hand.
Me: “You sound serious. Are you?”
You: *shrug* “Serious enough.”
I nodded slowly and tightened the drawstring on my hoodie.
3/ It was a cold day for outdoor dining—especially of the solo nerdy type. But seeing newly arranged and spaced tables thrust along the sides of some my favorite ATL eateries made me happy and willing to brave the chill for a slice of normalcy.