One month after my father, an anesthesiologist, died of cancer in 2017, I opened his hospital locker. The scent of antiseptic and his aftershave lingered. Inside, I found his lab coat, name badge, a notebook, patient thank-you cards, and a wooden box with a watch, keys, and a note: “For when you need it most.” His notebook held medical notes and reflections, like, “Medicine is about moments, not just cures.” Starting work at the hospital in June, I used his locker and wisdom daily, calming anxious patients with stories or listening through families’ fear,
inspired by his words. A patient wore his old watch, a gift from 20 years ago when Dad stayed with him post-accident. Later, a young mother’s life was saved by an extra minute, echoing Dad’s advice. In December, a donation inspired by him funded a patient comfort program. His locker holds his essence, guiding me to treat patients with compassion. His legacy isn’t in objects but in kindness that ripples forward. I’m not just following his footsteps—I’m carrying his heart, passing on his light through every patient interaction.
