Loss and Recovery
I was walking to the car to go to lunch one day last week when I realized one of my earrings was missing. I tried to think of where I could have lost it (I was sure I was wearing both of them when I went to work that morning) - and desperately retraced my steps in the hope of spotting it -- but alas, it was gone. It was a very pretty earring, hand-made, one that I picked up from a trip, and therefore held some special memories. It didn't hold much material value, but nonetheless, it was irreplaceable. For whatever reason, this experience made me think of the many losses we all go through--- some of them we can replace, most of them not. Some of them too suddenly, some of them, slowly, over time. Many of us bookmark points of time in our lives by our circumstances when a tragic, and sudden loss occurs. There is the infamous question that defines my generation: "Where were you when John Kennedy was shot?"
A year ago on August 15th, my good friend Min lost her beloved husband, and our dear friend, Ding. I vividly remember the text I received from Min. They were having dinner, he started to have chest pains, and was gone by the time they reached the hospital. Min recently shared with me a beautiful memory tribute she created for Ding via the social media. It was touching and comforting. Through this painful and sudden loss, Min is helping us all recover by sharing with us the gift of precious memories she and Ding shared.
It would be 14 years ago on August 25th that our family lost my nephew Vincent. Suddenly, unexpected, tragic. He was 25 years old, and a bright surgical resident. My kids and I were celebrating our babysitter's birthday and having cake when I got the call. Time stood still. We have since established a workshop in Vincent's honor in the surgical residency program that Vincent attended. This endeavor is helping us recover by sharing Vincent's story with each new breed of doctors, hoping they will be enlightened to support their own and each other's well-being.
Last week, I almost lost something I deeply cared for - a brain-child of sorts, endangered among conflicting priorities and time constraints. After a lot of thought and a renewed commitment with my professional partner to make it "good", I am forging on. Recovery is in full gear.
In six days, our daughter is moving on, leaving home base to live abroad. She is going through the anticipation of connections and relationships at risk of loss -- distance and time can do this -- and my wish for her is to keep faith. For, in the end, everything can be lost, but the memories of those we care for and those who care for us will sustain us.
