My First Day at APHA

What’s Love Got to do With it?

I hold two beliefs very close to my heart.

First, that all people are inherently good, regardless of their circumstances or actions.

And second, that loving each other is our natural way of being.

These beliefs get challenged daily, sometimes directly and sometimes through the conflicts I witness or find myself part of. To be honest, lately I’ve wavered.

When I arrived in Washington, D.C. for the American Public Health Association conference, I carried both excitement and uncertainty. Peer Support Community Partners had decided that we wanted to spread the concept of grief-informed organizations and demonstrate how peer grief support could benefit public health organizations and the people they serve. It was new territory for us, and I was nervous. My health has been a source of frustration lately, and I wondered, really worried, if I would be able to manage it all.

Carrie and I arrived, bags in hand, with luggage filled to the brim with everything for our booth, just barely able to manage. As we made our way toward our Uber, still many feet away, the driver suddenly jumped out and ran toward us. He grabbed two of our bags, carried them to the car, and then came back for the rest. His energy and kindness caught me completely off guard.

The app was struggling to get us to the correct part of the convention center, and the driver only spoke Spanish. He tried his best to explain in a few English words, but it wasn’t working. Then I realized I actually could help. I’ve always been a little self-critical, even when I can do something, so I tend to forget what I’m capable of. But this time, I remembered.

I told him, “Yo entiendo español.”

Immediately, his face lit up. He handed me his personal phone and asked me to type in the exact address. Together, we found the correct entrance. He never got frustrated, not even once, despite the effort required. And when we finally arrived, I think he was just as happy as we were. He insisted on unloading our bags right at the curb, as close to the entrance as possible.

That small act of cooperation, of kindness across language and culture, reminded me that connection doesn’t need perfection, only willingness.

After a much-needed Starbucks stop and a long, tiring walk to the expo center, we set up our booth: “Grief Is a Public Health Issue” and our Remembrance Wall. It felt big, meaningful, and a little vulnerable to bring this message into a space that had never quite seen it before.

As we walked out, tired but excited, we were greeted again by the security guard at the elevators. He had chatted with us earlier when we first arrived, asking if we were sisters. I laughed and said, “I would claim Carrie as a sister.”

He looked right at me and said, “That is what it is all about.”

When we approached him again while leaving, his face lit up. We talked a little about where to eat, and he pointed us toward an exit that would save us from the long walk we’d taken before. Then, as the elevator came, he actually stepped inside with us. “I’ll make sure you get where I mean,” he said.

We didn’t have as much luggage this time, but we still had our personal bags. As we stepped off, he pointed toward the correct door. A moment later, I heard him call out, “Wait! I’m following you so I can help get those bags up the stairs!” And sure enough, he jogged over, lifted them, and carried them up for us.

When I thanked him repeatedly, he stopped me.

“Do you not understand that you are deserving of this? Queen, you only and always deserve the best.”

My heart skipped a beat. Those words sank deep, maybe because I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear them.

We soon arrived at the restaurant, hungry and exhausted, only to find a long line and nowhere to sit. We decided to wait anyway, but I went inside to ask the hostess about the timing. She didn’t know that standing too long makes me lightheaded, but somehow, she saw me. She checked in several times until she found us a table, and later came to talk when we were done eating.

I told her how much I appreciated her kindness, and she smiled warmly.

She said, “That’s all we can do as humans, be kind and love. Love is what it’s all about.”

She told us she was from Ghana, studying to enter the healthcare field. I shared that I had lived in Kenya as a child, and she exclaimed, “So then you know!”

I reached for the few words of Swahili I could remember and said what I thought was “thank you so much.” In reality, I think I said “very good.” I felt that familiar wave of embarrassment at getting something wrong, but her joy was so pure that it swept my self-criticism away. She grabbed my hand, beaming.

What a day. Full of love, kindness, and connection, all from people I’d just met.

Carrie and I later said, “They were angels.” But maybe they weren’t.

Maybe the Uber driver, the security guard, and the restaurant hostess were simply people who live by love, who choose kindness not as a miracle but as their way of being. And maybe that’s the reminder I needed:

That even when the world feels heavy, our natural way of being, the one we sometimes forget, is love.

Maybe that’s what this grief work is about too, creating spaces where love has room to show up.