I take care of a 6 year old. She has the most beautiful smile you have ever seen, although that is not hard to find on a 6 year old this one is different.
You see I took care of her father Robert 1 year ago. He was under my care when we found out that he had cancer. It was too late, he was 35. From the time I saw him in the clinic until the time he died in a hospital bed attached to an IV line of morphine sulfate it was exactly 29 days. I didn’t find out that he had died until 7 days after his funeral. I felt stone cold.
His wife had told me, as she broke down in tears. And I, well… I felt this intense guilt. When I saw his daughter a patient of mine since I held her for the first time at her first physical at the age of 2 months, I almost cried.
I thought that would be the last time I would see this family. I felt responsible for his death, had we only caught it sooner, had we been on the lookout, had we heeded the early warning signs, anything. Anything to avoid this image of this family. This was a hard time for me in my career.
Two days later I would see Robert’s mother in our clinic. She would look deep into my eyes and we would hold hands. She would cry and I would listen. I felt guilty for her son’s death; I could not tell her this. She would come back 4 more times seeking treatment while she was away from her hometown in Colorado. She entrusted me during this time with her care. I felt incapable, I doubted my ability, and I recommended she see our specialist. She would see me 3 more times and each time she would tell me stories about her son. I grew to care for Robert more and more.
She would leave back to Colorado 6 months later. I have yet to see her since.
Today his six year old daughter ran through the clinic doors and gave me the biggest hug. It is as if Robert were reaching out from the dead. In this young girls embrace my wounds begin to mend. There is some resolution, here, some peace.
Today she has a small rash on her shoulder; it just needs some antifungal cream. Her mom tells me that Sarah will make up any excuse she can to visit me here in the clinic. I am overwhelmed with emotion, the guy who let her father die. I have no right to steal these hugs.
There is a brother, he is 8 and an aunt she is the mother of 2 and the extended family. I see them all now, each and every one, they treat me like family,
Deep down I am afraid. I am afraid that I will fail them again. Fail them like I failed Robert. Like a guard asked to keep watch over the base who fell asleep on his Job.
Yet in me they place their trust.
I'm 
