One day she wheeled herself into the office bearing two plastic grocery bags. Each one made a crinkling noise as she offered them over to me. “Now I brought you these,” she said, handing me the bags. I took them gently, as one would handle a baby. There were two small plants peering out - green, alive, with roots clinging to wet dirt. The sterile examining room filled with the lives of two people and two plants. “Oh my goodness,” I said to her. “Are these from the house plants you showed me over the video?”
Beautiful. Thank you. 😊🪴
The quality of you’re writing impresses me each time I read your articles. I like sharing them with my friends.
As always, Thank You
Your letters are one of the best things to come out of the pandemic
What a beautiful tribute to the human spirit and life. I’ve said it before and I will say it again: you have the mind of a scientist and the heart of a poet. I’m so grateful for all you do. You are a very special person. Take care! Linda
You missed your calling Dr. McCormick - that was lovely
What a beautiful way to share some life after she is gone. Your writing is quite a gift.
A life well lived I’m sure. A lady who loved and most certainly loved by most who’s life she touched.
How beautiful to think of the plant holding some of her carbon. We really don't go away.
This was such a beautiful tribute to a beautiful lady who would share what she loved with you. She entrusted you with the care of something she loved and through those plants her memory lives! My mother passed away 24 years ago. She had the most beautiful house plants, a veritable jungle. I inherited 3 of those plants. Over the years I've lost two of them but I baby that third plant and try as hard as my black thumbs can to keep it and her memory alive. If I remember I will show you a picture the next time I see you. Thanks for today's newsletter!
I was moved to tears by your sensitive, wonderful story about one of your patients, and then was moved again by the beautiful responses of your readers!￼
So much to recognize here in this watercolor sketch - both tribute and self-portrait. Quick kitchen discussions of daily profound moments, oblique glances into things too bright to dwell on, mixed with dishes and bath time and the mail, the phototrophic hunger to find space to do so, the maturation of writing and doctoring all these years after personal statements, and the careful tending of my grandmother's plants.
This is lovely. Thank you for sharing your talent with us, both as a wonderful Doctor and an amazing writer!