A life lived

My patient died.

I just heard by email. He lasted through his birthday, and died on Saturday morning. I'm glad I heard tonight, so I can get over the shock of it before facing everyone tomorrow morning-- so I can have a quiet evening remembering him and what I learned from him, so I'm not in so much of a daze during morning rounds.

I'm glad he's not suffering... but I weep for him, that he longed to live more, to see more people, have more conversations, listen to more music. I weep for his wife, his children, his friends, who have lost such an interesting man. I weep for myself, that I knew him for so short a time. But I'm so glad I stopped by on my way out on Thursday, because though I weep, I have no regrets. Though I didn't say the word "goodbye," I said it with my hug, with my hands, with my eyes.

I'm glad I got to know him a little, that I stopped by and we talked about music, about history, about his life... that I was able to make a difference for him. I can still hear his voice saying to me, as I left, "You were wonderful."