I pass his picture each morning, but on most I don’t stop;

most days I fail to remember that I am in his presence,

that he may be longing to be in mine.

Something about today, though, gives me pause;

I don’t continue in my busy rush through the bustling hospital,

but notice his bright face seeking mine from the wall.

In this moment, he is whole and still so vibrantly alive;

Henry as an intern, a clinician, a newly minted physician—

clearly eager to tackle illness and death and the world.

I can see in his eyes that he is capable, confident;

a consummate professional in the uniform of his profession.

He is responsible and resplendent, ready and resilient.

What I don’t see, what I fear I could never have seen,

are the demons that were slowly overtaking him;

I can’t feel the crushing weight of his insurmountable anguish...

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