My darling girl, my sweet Blair,
In my life I have seen people suffer. I have cured people of illness and I have made them comfortable before they died. Day after day I watch people walk away happy, and others broken. Some don't walk away at all.
When I first became a doctor, I struggled with this. I remember with such clarity the first patient I lost. His name was Henry. He was sixteen. When his mother and father cried over his body, I asked myself, "What the hell are you doing here, Joy?"
But eventually it got easier. Seeing the look of happiness on someone's face when I told them they were better, those moments outweighed the heartache. My sweet Blair, I want you to remember this; the greatest gift you can give is happiness. It also happens to be the most selfish gift but don't let that stop you from handing it out by the bucketful. Darling, whatever you do in life, make sure you don't do it because people say you should, or because it pays well. Do it for happiness. Catch it in a bucket like rain and drench yourself and everyone around you in it until everything bad is washed away.
About five years after I became a doctor, I met a woman named Blair. My question was answered; I knew why I was here. She was very beautiful and wicked and intimidating. Picture a woman with perfect brown curls, smirking red lips and very gentle brown eyes. Beside her was her husband, his hair almost black and his hazel eyes flecked with mischievous gold. Both were clad in the best clothes money could buy.
Chuck and Blair were 23 with the world at their feet and they knew it. They had better places to be, and honestly, with the health care they had grown up with, their visit to me was for 'just in case.'
Blair and Chuck were completely out of place in my consultation room. The young couple perched in the cold salmon pink vinyl chairs were dripping in gold and happiness and confidence. And it was my unfortunate duty to inform Blair that I had found cancer cells in her cervix.
I watched as they absorbed my words. Like apocalyptic poetry; branded into their skin. Slowly, slowly; with the consistency of honey, their happy, secure bubble popped and dripped to the floor, sticking our feet in place. The smirking arrogant man started to cry. And Blair pulled Chuck into her arms and cooed sweet nothings in his ear.
She didn't cry. She just looked me bluntly in the eye and said, "Joy, what are my chances?" I avoided the question and told her instead I'd do everything I could. She smiled weakly and I imagined her reaching up to the sky, grabbing her dreams of success and children and snapping, "Where do you think you're going?"
Amazing, I thought. Simply amazing. The girl with everything didn't cry when things didn't go her way. She didn't offer me money to make it all better, not that I could. No. She just took her gloves off and said to Chuck, "We'll fight this. We never lose."
Over the next 18 months I saw a lot of Blair and Chuck. They came in for tests and rounds of chemo and the whole time, Blair stayed strong. She held her crying lover and her devastated friends in her arms. I remember how beautiful she was when she came in with no hair. She smirked at me and said, "I'm starting a trend."
I asked Chuck how they were coping one day. He said, "She barely ever cries. She tells me to be grateful for every day. It's hard. Blair taught me happiness."
There was a time when we thought we'd lose Blair, towards the end of her treatment. I cried more than I did when Henry died, because she was my inspiration. I watched Chuck cry at her bedside and she said, "Don't be afraid to fall in love again. Don't be scared to move on."
She cried. And when she kissed Chuck their tears ran between their lips. He told her, "I'm not ready for you to go."
She sat back, crossed her arms weakly across her chest and sighed, "Fine. If you really want me to stay."
It was beautiful.
It took a while but she got better. And by the end I had filled a bucket with the word remission and I gave it to her, a bucket of happiness. When she left that day, two months after she almost died, I watched her walk home in the rain, swinging her bucket.
Blair, I named you after this beautiful woman. She is the strongest most incredible person I have ever met. This is what I hope you harness; the strength to carry people, the strength to be happy.
I told Blair how incredible she was one day. She smiled happily and said, "I know. But so are you."