Dear Che. Your death at fourteen carries with it no rationale explanation.

Dear Che,

Your death at fourteen carries with it no rationale explanation.  The journey you have been on the last few years with cancer prematurely moved the boy into a man; making decisions decision that belies the burgeoning physical change to adulthood.  The parents left to mourn and imagine what could have been,  The friends who, like you, had to grow up quickly to understand what has happened, are forever changed.

I know you so well; but really never spent any time with you.  Your dad, the Old Man, and I are colleagues and friends.  For a decade we worked together.  We moved from colleagues to friends immediately.  Sharing a passion for our work in healthcare was matched by our passion for family.  The result was time spent together in discussion over physician engagement, the need for new technology, or strategy for neurosciences — always included were updates, stories, or anecdotes about you, your mom, and my family.

The Old Man and I are co-workers, colleagues.  First and foremost, fathers.

News of your death stopped time.  My immediate response was to provide support to your family.  Impossible.  There is nothing to be said or done that could fill the void or lessen the pain.

The next impulse was to call Eddie and Miles, my sons.  Again, there is no rationale explanation for this.  Hearing their voices was comforting.  Knowing they were okay was important and at the same time ironic.  Texting and calling my sons meant I wasn’t experiencing the pain your mom and dad were going through.  I apologize for such a selfish act.

Your dad and I collectively have over sixty years in healthcare.  We understand the process, clinical decision making, and options available for patient and family.  We both have made decisions based on financial resources, patient needs, and family needs.  We sat through countless seminars and workshops devoted to caring for the whole family versus the patient.  We participated in budget sessions where purchase of a disruptive technology and investment in a clinical protocol was bypassed due to financial constrains or prioritization.  We often used the phrase “the patient first” and use the “patient experience” as reasoning for decision making.  But, it was all in the third person.

I would like to think that we are caring and compassionate individuals.  Yet, once a decision was made or budget approved, we moved on to the next issue at hand.  Once the meeting concluded, we moved on and rarely thought about the potential impact on a patient or family member.

The next time your dad and I meet for breakfast, the world will be changed.  I’m sure we will discuss work a little and catch-up.  Then, the conversation will move into more important matters – you, Eddie, and Miles.

The next time I pour over an Excel spreadsheet or a predictive model,  I want to think about you.  Knowing you humanizes the data.  Your life is a constant reminder that at the end of the day, every decision made changes a life, a family, our world.

Be good, Che.  I look forward to sharing stories about you and your accomplishments with your dad again very soon.

Brandon