The End of One Era, The Beginning of Another

It was late last night that I got the news. My grandfather, as so many do, fought in and out of "getting better" and "getting worse" until his body wanted a rest. I was studying for my anatomy test that I took this morning. I tried to memorize spinal nerves through tears. I miss him. He was the last of three grandfathers to whom I had the honor of being a grandson. It was difficult, it is difficult, to be so far away, so busy. But in the challenge lies the reward.

It is clear that medicine will never get a day off. Whether it be a test, a surgery, a patient visit, my life is secondary to the lives of those I serve, those that come to me for help. It was a harsh lesson in the first month of medical school but a clear one. My future patients will deserve nothing less than all of my focus, concentration, and attention, despite the events of my personal life.

I think I did great on the test, although I didn't sleep much. I have a hard time vocalizing my feelings, especially sadness. So I chose to write something instead of trying to talk it out. I want this to be my way of saying goodbye to my three grandpas, who I did not get to say goodbye to.

Craftsmen

For My Grandfathers

I can’t think of a more noble title to bestow on a man;

Craftsman.

Three grand men shared the title; Three grand men shared a grandson.

If there are better lessons to learn from a grandfather;

I don’t know of any but those that my grandpas,

The craftsmen, taught me.

Attention to Detail,

Exactness in execution,

Perspective given to a job to be done,

Passion for a job well done,

Love for family

Love for creation

Faith.

A craftsman lives on in his creations;

Design, Cut, Build, Refine.

We may have not been aware of it,

But they did the same with us.

Design, Cut, Build, Refine.

They live on in us.

My grandpas live on in me.

Our eldest and perfect brother,

Died so that we could live again.

That was his purpose.

His hands bear the marks of his sacrifice.

I’d like to think that the calloused hands of my grandfathers,

Toughened skin from years of hammer, wood, saw, metal,

Would also remain calloused after they live again.

To represent their trade, their calling

Their gifts to us.

How humbled I am to have been given three of these noble men.

Nate left before I could properly get to know him,

But his abilities and essence are a part of me,

A hand to guide my own.

It was Fred that stepped in and took up the mantle.

Nate would be pleased,

Only a craftsman can fill a craftsman’s shoes.

A second hand to guide my own.

And finally, it was Perry;

Who embodied the title of a craftsman from the day he could pick up a hammer.

A third hand to guide my own.

It seems that I am destined to be like them,

but cursed to never be there to say goodbye.

I can find solace in knowing that every cut of the scalpel,

Every stitch I make,

Every stroke of my charcoal,

I have three,

Calloused hands,

To guide mine.

“The first son of my first son,” says Nate.

“Eric, make the lines straight, see the product,” says Fred.

“Hey Tiger, measure twice, cut once,” says Perry.

Thanks Grandpa.