Grace

In March I received a letter that made me cry.  It was from our beloved pediatrician, writing to let his patients know that he was leaving his practice in the fall.  He had decided to go work full-time in palliative care with pediatric cancer patients, something he had been doing a day or two a week in recent years.  In March “the fall” seemed awfully far away, and while the news made me very sad, it felt remote.

Flash forward to Thursday last week, to Grace’s eight year check up.  When I’d spoken to Dr. Rick over the summer about our transition to another pediatrician in his practice, he urged me to make Grace’s appointment a few weeks before her birthday so we could have one last visit with him.  I didn’t realize that our appointment, on September 30th, was the very last day he was seeing patients.  I didn’t realize we were the third or fourth to last patient he ever saw in the practice he’d lovingly led for years and years.

Yikes.  I learned this when I got the office’s confirmation call on Wednesday.  Startled, I realized that the distant fall had arrived and my eyes filled with tears.  He was really leaving.

So it was with great sadness that I watched Dr. Rick interact with Grace with his usual blend of warmth and humor.  What I didn’t expect, though, was the intense gratitude I felt.   This man, I realized, was the person who had held the door to motherhood open for me.  I think of him in those first few weeks and months, when he was much more of a presence in my life as a mother than he will probably ever know.  I remember the call, when Grace was 2 weeks old, when I told him, through sobs, that I had just been diagnosed with post partum depression.  I don’t know exactly what he said to me, but I remember vividly feel calmed and comforted when I hung up the phone.

Just like that, from the very start, Dr. Rick made me feel I could do this.  He didn’t ever pathologize my initial, frankly violent feelings about motherhood, and he patiently waited as they subsided into the more regular, gentle throbbing of mother-love that I’d expected from the start.  He seemed to have anticipated this arc, and somehow that felt reassuring to me rather than condescending.

Over the years Dr. Rick has been an important supporter of my approach to parenting, whose commitment to not over-scheduling or over-indulging my children often makes me feel out of step with everyone around me.  I’ve felt his quiet but steady approval bolstering me when I feel insane or different, and have more than once called on him for advice in matters that have very little to do with my childrens’ physical health.

Dr. Rick has been a calm and non-reactive doctor, who responded to a call at 11pm about a fever fever with the soothing and nonchalant advice to administer motrin and call in the morning.  He examined Grace after she fell out of a Whole Foods shopping cart onto a concrete floor at 14 months, advised on flu shots (not a fan), and diagnosed dozens of ear infections.  All without batting an eyelash.  His relaxed approach, which evinces a fundamental faith in the sturdiness of our children and in the goodness of the world, certainly informed my own.  As I’ve written before, I’m a far more laid-back mother than I ever expected.  The lion’s share of credit for this surely goes to my mother, whose own laissez-faire approach incubated mine, but some of it belongs to Dr. Rick.

That said, Dr. Rick knew when to be concerned, and he has been, once for each child.  And in each case, he delivered his concern to me calmly but seriously, and because of his generally easy demeanor, I took his input and advice directly to heart.

Rick has been the perfect pediatrican.  I feel great sadness at his moving on, and know that all of us will grieve his absence in our lives and those of our children.  Just a few weeks ago, driving to the “procedure” about which he was very concerned, Whit asked me, voice wobbling, “this doctor is a friend of Dr Rick’s, right?”  When I said yes I felt him relax slightly, still scared but at least sure that he was in good hands.  Anyone who is a friend of Dr Rick’s is inherently to be trusted.  I feel the same way.

I am sure that the patients Rick will be treating now need him much more than we do.  I am equally certain that he is pursuing his dharma, following his path, which takes him towards incredibly difficult and important work.  I am grateful beyond measure for his consistent support, which was always gentle and firm at the same time.  As I told him on Thursday, leaving our final appointment, with tears in my eyes, he was the first person who really made me think I was capable of being a mother.

And that is an extraordinary gift.

Thank you, Dr. Rick.  We will miss you.

I am the heart contracted by joy ..

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you,
when you think to call my name …
(Jane Kenyon)

Grace, Whit,

I hope you will always remember this trip …

The rides, the winning of Lego the enormous green bear, the fact that your first words every morning, Whit, were “I love you, Grace,” the late-afternoon cheese & crackers and running on the grass, the holding hands, the morning Cocoa Pebbles, the races between the stairs and the elevator, the laughter, the swimming in the pool (even me!), and the kisses on the tops of your heads. The tears in my eyes at random moments, which took you (and me) by surprise. The waking and sleeping and breathing and eating all together; the way our very pulses synched.

I hope you will always remember how very, very much I love you.