Darkness Into Light

This morning I went for a solo walk for Darkness into Light. 

T. had asked to go with me again this year but I made the hard parental decision that he is highly unlikely to manage his very busy Saturday if he gets up before 4am, and that it was for the best to let him sleep.

Patient stories are always on my mind during these walks, in particular one that will never leave me from 2007, when I was a young trainee.  I sometimes wish his family could know that I still remember his story.   However, it’s not just patients:  Doctors, ironically a group of people who see many, many sunrises in a career, have an extraordinarily high rate of suicide, and there was yet another colleague’s name to remember since I walked it last year. 

The piece below was originally written and published on 7/5/2022:

At 3.30am, I was trying to get ready to leave for #darknessintolight2022🌅walk as quietly as possible without waking the house (mostly the 3y.o.😬). I turned around — to find the 6 y.o. awake and ready to go with me.

So, I took him with me to @darknessintolightfairyhouse I tried to explain the event to him on the short drive. But not the stories of why I do it.

As we started, T. got anxious: “where is the sun? What if it never comes up?”

Me: “No matter how dark the night, dawn always comes. Remember that.”

And we looked for the signs of dawn as we walked. His little hand in mine. When we got to reflective km, it was light enough for him to see how many people were there. And he remarked on it. I asked him if he understood why so many people were there.

He thought and said: “Is it love?”

Me: “Exactly. Just like the sun, it’s always there even when you can’t see it. No matter where you go in life, always remember how many and how much people care.”

My reflective km wasn’t the solo, silent, ruminating, remembering one I had planned. Like all doctors, I carry stories that aren’t mine to share but never to forget.

But this year, my son made me see the light, not the darkness, of the walk.