Dear Son,

Memories are sometimes all one has of those we treasure. Moments and sensations in time, frozen in the deep recesses of our minds. All it takes is one reminder, a touch, a scent, a whisper that takes you back.

You're probably wondering why your dear old dad has suddenly gone all sentimental. I think it's time I tell you about someone you have few memories of, someone I know loved you the moment you were conceived and came into this world. You want to know what her first words to me were as she held you in her arms?

"Isn't he just amazing, Ray?"

You, with your hazel eyes, toffee colored skin and the softest brown hair I had ever touched - all I could do was nod in response. You were quite the vision and surprisingly quiet for a newborn, and very alert. So quiet, in fact, that we both wondered if you were really ours, but there was no mistaking the small, defined nose and almond shaped eyes. You looked just like her. Even now, when I look at you, I can see her in your smile.

Do you want to know how we met? We were both first year interns at the emergency room at County General in Chicago. It was her second year at County since she had already done her rotations as a medical student there. It was my first year, and I felt like the outsider walking into a close-knit family. Everybody already knew each other for the most part, and let just say that thanks to my earlier loves of tattoos, partying, and rock & roll, I was looked at as some sort of punk-poser pretending to play doc. Now that I think back, it probably wasn't the best image to have, but you know what, I don't regret it. I regret some things from that time in my life but being who I was and how I chose to express myself was not one of them. And yes, I was part of a band. I loved music, still do, although, I admit my tastes have since changed.

Now your mother, she was nothing like that, not even close. She was the proverbial "good girl", could tell you the symptoms and diagnoses of a number of illnesses without batting an eyelash, helped her parents out financially and was known to get emotionally attached to her patients. We were, to put it plainly, polar opposites. We spent the first few months of work arguing and annoying each other; it had kind of become our thing. Even though I think, its only fair for me to admit, I did most of the annoying. What can I say, it was easier for me back then, to keep people on edge rather than let them get close. Things started to change between us once we started sharing an apartment as roommates. Your probably wondering now, how did it happen? How did we ever make it work?

You know what, the first few months were tough, even with us working opposite shifts, there were some days, following arguments about detergent, dirty dishes or unexpected houseguests, that I wondered whether it had all been a mistake. But then I would remember the reasons why I had offered for her to share the apartment with me.

She had a way of surprising me, just when I thought I had her pegged, she would throw a curve ball at me and leave me wondering. Often times when working, I would find myself just gazing at her. She had no qualms about laying her feelings out in the open, whether it was intense dislike for our Chief Resident, Morris, or sadness over having to explain to a patient that he had a terminal illness. I often found myself admiring her perseverance to keep going until a case was completely resolved. Back then, I had the tendency to remove myself emotionally and at times physically from any given situation. It was just easier that way. Safe to say it wasn't often that she would let me get away with it.

One particular night I made a fatal mistake with a stabbing victim, one I realize was due to my own eagerness to diagnose the patient quickly and get the trauma case going.

Sitting here, I can clearly remember her saying to me, as I examined the wound,

"Shouldn't we tube her first?" As per my usual indifferent attitude back then, I simply responded with, "Be my guest."

Had I truly listened to her slight warning back then, the patient would have had a shot at survival. From that night onwards I began to truly think about my decision to continue with emergency medicine. Up until that point, I had never questioned my desire to go into this specialty. For me it had been all about the action of trauma and working on different cases every day - being able to say to myself, "Hey I took care of 30+ patients today; I'm accomplished, I'm SuperDoc!".

Reality was, I didn't know the first thing about really "taking care" of a patient. Your mother changed that for me, she taught me to slow down and take a closer look at the patients I was attending to. When I was ready to throw in the towel and contemplated changing careers, she sat down with me at our apartment and told me to take a good look inside myself.

"Ray, there is a reason you chose to endure the grind of med school, go through the long sleepless, thankless days and nights of this internship. Don't tell me now it was all for nothing. " I remember looking at her for a long time thinking, you don't understand.

As if reading my thoughts, she continued quietly, "You know I'm the one person who probably understands more of what your feeling than anyone else. It wasn't very long ago, I walked out of my internship at Michigan and was working at a well known convenient store not far from the hospital."

I couldn't help but smirk, "Oh yeah, Dr. Jumbomart…..it all seems like a lifetime ago."

"For you maybe, but for me it feels just like yesterday." She replied looking at me with a sad smile.

I couldn't help but ask her then, "What changed?", gazing past her shoulder out the window. "Why did you decide to stay?"

"I have realized over the course of this year, that what we do is hard, it's taxing and it's frustrating as hell! But you know what for every patient we lost or were unable to help there were 15 - 20 more that were saved or left the hospital feeling better. People, whose lives we were a part of, if for only a moment. That's something. And you want to know who taught me that lesson?" She asked, waiting until I looked back at her. She held my gaze for moment, looking me straight in the eyes.

"You."

I was stunned, felt something inside me burst. I wanted to say something, anything but no words would come out. We stared at each other for the longest time; until I felt her fingers against my face gently brushing away the tears that I had not realized were beginning to fall freely.

That was the moment that I realized that your mother was the one. The one woman who understood me completely and saw within me, when I was afraid to look at myself. From that moment, to this very day I am proud to say that I loved her. I loved her for her dedication, her resolve, her stubborn tendencies, her ability to look beyond the surface of things to reach within, and most of all I loved her for just being...Neela.

I know there is very little I can write here to make up for the fact that I didn't share these feelings and memories with you sooner; it's been sixteen years since her death. You were barely a year old when she died in the car accident. I was angry for a long time, angry with God, angry with her, and with myself for losing her so quickly. I know I closed off from you because of it and I'm truly sorry for that. I can't bring back those years for you or bring her back, but I can tell you that she is always there with you. She is a part of you as she is a part of me. You're about to venture out into the world and experience life for what it is, college can be an exciting and stressful experience. Anytime you want to talk, give me a call or drop me an email.

Always remember to trust yourself and your instincts and stay true to what you believe. Your mother and I love you very much and watching you grow has reminded me of the love we shared and the time we spent together and I treasure every moment of it.

Love, Dad