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...