The Grieving Room

How many more crosses must we bear?

I don’t have the energy to put into words the sheer destruction taking place before my eyes within the United States of America. SCOTUS, to put it rather frankly, just tap-danced on our hearts. It is undoubtedly clear that women and human beings with reproductive parts do not matter. It is even more clear that People of Color with reproductive parts do not matter. Many have marched decades ago for simple human rights; others have marched more recently and protested and made themselves seen in the face of democracy, however, Roe v. Wade was still overturned.

How did we even get here and how many more crosses must we bear? A co-worker and friend reached out to me yesterday, shortly after I ended a call with one of my patients, to inform me of the news. She said, “I am low in my spirits, Tre. They just overturned Roe v. Wade.” I am unsure where you were when you received the news — how you handled it, but I am an all-feeling person, and I can’t (un)feel something like this. My immediate response to her was, “I could have gone all day without reading this! What next? Soon, we won’t be able to vote or work or make impactful decisions.”

Make no mistake, there will be more. They will come for everything they can get from us until we are dry bones withering in the wind. The patriarchy is out for blood and their incisors are sharp and waiting for their next victims.

Ansley Cole, a college student from Atlanta, said she was “scared because what are they going to come after next? … The next election cycle is going to be brutal, like it’s terrifying. And if they’re going to do this, again, what’s next?” — AP News, June 24, 2022

Reread that quote above. A college student from Atlanta. A college student. A college … Autonomy is being stripped away from generations of women and people with reproductive parts and enforced abortion bans are sliding into several states — as if they were on the back burner just waiting to be moved to the front. Everything is on fire. Everything is burning. No amount of water can extinguish it. You already have our uteruses. What will you come for next, America?!

My heart is aching. My mind is all over the place — unsettled. I have tried to focus on something else this morning, but I just cannot. My brothers do not have to worry about senseless decisions made by vindictive men, but my younger sister does. I am being tasked with the question in my head repeatedly, “Will my brothers fight for me and my sister in the face of tyranny and inequality and our actual rights to own the decisions we make regarding our bodies?” Will they? I hope to God they would.

Whatever your stance, you have the right to your opinion and your beliefs, but once you take away a person’s choice to do what they believe is best for their own bodies and their personal situations, there is no trust. There can be no trust.


A day off to keep an emotional breakdown at bay.

This past Monday, June 20, 2022, I had to call out of work. The night before, I swam in a sea of emotions and battled with myself about my current position and how much the medical field is changing. I dislike calling out from work. It is not something I do often and whenever it has to be done, a huge part of me feels guilty and ashamed that I needed time away.

With therapy, I am working on understanding why I must be a priority. I am learning that a mental health day should be high on my list of things to gift myself, and I should not be penalized for knowing I need one — for acting on it. In the medical field though, and I hate to say this, the patients come first. You are a servant to them and your feelings/mental health status/emotional presence truly does not matter. These things are to be tucked away and presented only when the patient (s) has been taken care of and attended to.

Aside from a few tears shed because I had been overwhelmed the entire weekend, I enjoyed having the day free to gather myself. Out of nowhere, my emotions just took over, and I had to struggle to set my mind, heart, and body right. There were moments throughout the day on Monday when I thought I would sink completely low and not be able to pull myself up again. I made it through, though.

I spent the day cuddling with my dog, reading, writing, and watching the entire first season of God’s Favorite Idiot on Netflix. If you’re looking for a series to bring a bit of light-heartedness and humor into your world right now, I recommend that one. Melissa McCarthy is a comedic genius, and I love her. I needed all the laughs that came from watching the series. I truly did.


“Everything’s going to work out just fine. Don’t worry about it.”

This past Wednesday, my younger cousin sent an audio file (including a picture of me, our cousin Akua (Caison’s mom), and her beautiful mother) to me of Chrissy stating the above quote, along with another. I cannot tell you the number of times I’ve played this recording. The number of times I have cried from hearing her voice — from smiling because I could visually place her facial expression as she said the above, “Everything’s going to work out just fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Truth be known, I am crying my way through this newsletter, but it’s getting done. With all the events taking place in the world — the deaths, decisions that affect millions of people, the gun-slingers who will outright kill you for merely existing, etc., and whatever else is to come, I can only think about this moment and perhaps the next fifteen minutes ahead. Thanks to another cousin of mine, who slipped this quote into my brain, “Take life fifteen minutes at a time,” I am doing just that.

“Everything’s going to work out just fine.” I believe that. “Don’t worry about it.” I’ll try not to.


Grief is a heavy load to lug around.

My therapist said to me this past Thursday, June 23, 2022, “You are on nobody’s timeline. Grief isn’t on a timer that automatically shuts off when it’s done with you. Remember to allow yourself the time you need to feel everything, Tre.”

Grief is heavy. It comes with every ounce it wants to carry along with it, and it drops on you when you least expect it. It is in the air — in the words of someone close to you — spills out of a patient’s mouth when all you wanted to do was schedule them for their procedures. It is everywhere and in everything.

I am learning to adjust to a life that is missing someone who meant more to me than mere words can state. I am learning to endure a life without a gem who could make me smile instantly. I am moving forward with a life that still needs me in it to live it. I want to be known for more than simply surviving. I aim to be known for more than simply surviving.

Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph. — Haile Selassie


Welcome to The Grieving Room. I am here. You are here. We are not alone in this.

See you next Saturday.


©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published via The Grieving Room newsletter via LinkedIn.

Not Okay

The indomitable Sarah Doughty, beautiful people. Truth is spoken here–such truth.

Sarah Doughty

“Here’s the thing:
Nothing about this is okay.
You are not okay.”

Here’s the thing you don’t seem to understand. You aren’t funny. Intolerance, bigotry, and misogyny is no laughing matter. It is not okay to turn someone’s fears into a joke. It is not okay to mock someone. It is not okay taunt a victim. To make excuses for what happened to them. To make light of what they needed to do to survive.

Have you not noticed the trail of burned bridges you’ve left behind you? Have you not noticed the people you have offended? How about the fact that they are women, or men that appreciate women for who they are? Their strength. Their resilience.

No. It is not okay. You are not okay. Get some fucking perspective and some humility while you’re at it.

© Sarah Doughty

Try to learn to be better.
For the sake…

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We Are the Village

And we must protect it

Photo by Heather Wilson via ReShot

I live on the third floor of a building with old, young, and the in-between gathered up to call this place our home. A neighbor of mine, who lives on the first floor, has three children — all under the age of five. She has been blessed with two handsome little boys and a precocious little girl with big, bright gray-green eyes. I know all of them. I’ve watched the boys grow over the last two years and while the oldest has calmed down, the middle son is still hyperactive, escapes his mother’s grip, and makes the area in front and behind our building his hiding places.

I have seen her chase after him with the youngest bouncing gingerly on her hip and the oldest advancing toward her van, attempting to open it as if he has no patience for his younger brother’s shenanigans. I have watched her load them all into the vehicle on her own, with a lovely smile plastered across her face as I yell out, “Hey there! Y’all good?”

She always responds with, “Morning. Yes, ma’am. Have a great day.” She doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t look for it, but I am a part of this village, so I help when I see the seams tearing. She has my attention.

On a cold winter’s day, with snow falling down in thick, beautiful flakes, I was coming up the stairs leading to the front of our building to gain access to the street. My morning and afternoon walk with my dog is when I see her most. She had the youngest on her hip, had already strapped the oldest in his car seat, and was calling out to the middle son to direct his little body to where she and his siblings had been.

Undeterred and happy to dance around in the snow, running from one end of the length of our building to the other, I called to him — he ran to me. With Jernee scooped up and carefully placed in my left arm, I guided him toward his mom. He is not vocal — not by much. He utters a few words here and there but is still developing his voice in this world. His energy, though, is undeniably sound. My mother would venture to call him mischievous — not bad, but curious and willing to test the waters.


Their lives are orchestrated by her.

I used to say to myself when I saw her, “She has her hands full.” But I realized after more time looking out for all four of them when they’re outside and I am approaching — she will direct the oldest to get the youngest while she chases after the middle son, and does it all in stride.

This is a never-ending job, one she has perfected. You may read this and wonder, “Where is the father?” When they first moved in, it was her, the two boys, and her boyfriend (their father). This is a quiet space and his presence was certainly heard. Whatever their reasons, they split up, but he comes to get his children or she takes them to him like clockwork every other week.

They’re making it work.

At first, when the young man left, I noticed how hard it was for her. With only the boys to look after, she would have them up, fed, dressed, and ready to venture out for their day. As her belly began to mound, chasing after the two of them was not a task, I could tell, she wanted to endure.

As the eldest of seven, with five brothers and a younger sister, I know the exhaustion of running behind and attempting to catch toddlers. It’s not something I wanted to do much of when I was younger and I was just their sister. I cannot imagine attempting to gather the energy while with-child to corral two quick little ones to do what you need them to do.

She did it, though — day after day.

As time passed, I noticed a pattern — a design, or rather a life-plan for her as she raises her children. The oldest is now four and runs to me to say a quick “Hello” or to dote on my dog, Jernee. He is better at helping with the younger ones and has his “listening ears” on most days now. The middle son still carries on without a care in this world, but I can tell he is protective of his younger sister, who is walking now and getting into everything. She has a fear of dogs, so she waves shyly in my direction if Jernee is in tow. However, when I am alone, she races toward me to hug me at my knees.

She is instilling in her children proper manners, love, empathy, protection of one another, and endurance. This has all been orchestrated by her, and it is working. The beauty of watching its progress is not beyond me — I get to witness it daily upon my interactions with them.


This is my village, and I will protect it.

Being the unit that we are here in this building and in much of my neighborhood, we look out for each other. My neighbor, upon unloading the kids and groceries from the van one night, dropped her debit card and receipt onto the pavement leading up to our building. I spotted it that night while walking Jernee. I rapped at her door. The young man (the children’s father) answered as he was caring for them while she was away. I let him know where I found it and he gave it to her when she returned later that night.

Recently, she thought she’d dropped her keys on the ground after getting them all settled inside one night before a heavy snowfall. The next morning, with the iced-over inches of snow covering our breezeways and every inch of grass in front of our building, she stated to me, “I think I dropped my keys out here. This is going to be a mess to get through.”

Envisioning her out there trying to dig through the hardened snow with her gloves, overcoat, and body triple-layered in warm clothing, I said to her, “If you can’t find them, let me know.” I was racing to get back upstairs to start my workday, but all I could think about was her finding those keys.

That evening after work, I saw her coming toward the building and asked after the keys to which she responded, “Oh my goodness! They were in my purse the whole time!”

We laughed and I said to her, “Thank goodness, because I was going to come back down here with the shovel and we were just going to dig for them.” I have no doubt, if she could, she’d do the same for me.


The village is supposed to rise up and make sure everyone has what they need. It is supposed to provide care, comfort, love, and discipline (whenever necessary) to ensure each of us can endure. It is not within me to stand idly by when my neighbors need help — never has been. I hope to get to see two more years of these little ones growing up before I leave this apartment complex. And until then, this is my village — I must protect it.

Shouldn’t we all do the same?


Originally published in Age of Empathy via Medium.

On: The Lives of African-Americans & People of Color

Photo by Ezekixl Akinnewu via Pexels

You don’t understand the anger b/c you are not the target. Your life isn’t on the line every time you come in contact with those purposed to “protect” & “serve”. Don’t question our anger. It’s warranted & has been bottled up for eons. An explosion of epic proportions is brewing.

Stand with us or sit down.

Non-Fiction Saturdays

A burst of Spring

Stay At Home

Please, Just Do Your Part

I left my windows open overnight. The chilly North Carolina breeze helps when the warmer months rage forth. Doing this, lent my ears to the songs of the crickets and the various melodies of every bird lifting their sweet voices. On Friday, March 27, 2020, Governor Roy Cooper issued a “Stay-At-Home” order to begin Monday, March 30, 2020.

However, my city’s Mayor issued a similar ordinance and it began yesterday.  Governor Cooper’s ordinance will end on April 29, 2020, and my city’s ordinance is set to end on April 16. 2020. I’ll be following the State issued ordinance, as you probably guessed.

The article states the Governor’s decision came from the urging of many hospitals and healthcare officials fearful of not being able to combat Covid-19 if people aren’t doing what they truly can to prevent the spread of the virus. One of the most essential ways to do this is to simply stay at home. Two others are: practicing social-distancing and proper hand and body hygiene. We also need much more testing done to be able to locate carriers and quarantine the healthier ones versus the immunocompromised.

What I have noticed with many of the changes being implemented in my state is that people are becoming more friendly. Passersby keep their distance, however, they bid me “Good morning” or “Good evening.” They nod a “Hello” or comment from afar on how cute Jernee is.  People hold doors open for each other to keep another from touching them if they’re coming out of a particular building. It’s as if a central love shift is taking place, one we needed, and it’s all coming at the terror and fear of an invisible foe.

I hate to say this, but did we need this wakeup call? Did we need something to slap us all pretty hard on our faces to begin to show a decent amount of humanity toward one another? Some people are afraid of being lonely and most are even more afraid of dying, so it is taking a global pandemic to instill love, care, kindness, and selflessness back into the characteristics of human beings? This baffles me.

We should have been doing this anyway!


Me, at work, nearing the end of my shift yesterday.


I urge all of you residing in various states and countries to abide by the guidelines, recommendations, and ordinances issued by your city/state/country/ officials. Do your part. If your job is not on the essential services or workers’ list, stay home. Don’t go out unless it’s absolutely necessary. And when you do, make sure you’re staying protected, that you’re practicing social-distancing and not gathering up in parties more than 5-10.

Really, to be honest, I’m staying at home. I have not visited any family or friends and the most I do when I am done with a work shift is walk Jernee. That provides me with a greater sense of peace after the types of days we’re currently experiencing at work.

Next week, we begin our reduced hours’ schedule. I am on to work only 24 hours next week and this is subject to change based on patient volume. Now that these ordinances have been announced, many of our patients are canceling their procedures and exams. They’re fearful of coming out and they know that if it’s not emergent, they can simply reschedule. Yes, I am worried about not working enough so that I can continue to take care of myself and Jernee, but I am far more concerned and willing to stop the spread of this thing.

Whatever needs to be done, should be done.


I am offering each of you love, peace, and the fact that you’re not alone in this. Most of us will struggle. We’re doing it together. Most of us will break down. There’s no shame in that. This is a life-altering experience and many, if not all of us, have never lived through something of this magnitude before.

Be careful. Be kind. Be wise. Do your part. Now is not the time to test boundaries and break rules. You’ve got the rest of your life, should you live through this, to be stupid.

Think more about others and less of yourself. I think we should all want to save as many lives as possible instead of being possible contributors to killing them.

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