The psychiatrist
left her doctor's office
invisible,
voiceless.
Her cysteine blue eyes fell
dusky,
dewy,
dolorous.
She couldn't imagine missing our
graduations,
marriages,
careers,
children.
At seventeen,
I couldn't imagine missing
her.
Nestling beside her I said,
"On heaven or earth you will be there."
Knowing I feared losing her she lulled,
"You have nothing to be afraid of."
Years later,
invisible,
voiceless,
my cysteine blue eyes fell
dusky,
dewy,
dolorous.
Remembering my mother,
I left my doctor's office
for a knowing
look,
touch,
and
word
that I learned
when nurtured over time
could heal
the malady the doctor missed.
Lauren M. Weinand is a fourth-year medical student at the University of Arizona College of Medicine, Tucson.
The author thanks her late mother, Dr. Mary Ann Coady Weinand, and late friend, Meikil Addie Berry, for their profound love and formative mentorship in patient care.