Reflections

I recently came across an article by a Stanford neurosurgery resident.  This resident was in the final year of 8 years of  training when he developed shortness of breath, fevers, and weight loss.  His worst nightmare came true: metastatic lung cancer.  This week, he passed away.  He wrote a pretty amazing article about his illness, which can be read here.  

Much of what he struggled with was how his infant daughter would grow up, likely with no memory of him. In the last paragraph of the article, he writes, 

"There is perhaps only one thing to say to this infant, who is all future, overlapping briefly with me, whose life, barring the improbable, is all but past.  That message is simple: When you come to one of the many moments in life when you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more, but rests, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is an enormous thing."

The sheer weight of these words are so amazingly heartbreaking. They have caused me to reflect a lot upon my kids, and, of course, my mom.  I am fortunate to have many great memories of her, but I do always wish that we could have shared the process of motherhood together. And it is so true, no matter how crazy the kids drive me, I do get so much joy from them. Articles like these remind me how important is is to savor that joy.