I didn’t know how important a child’s pediatrician is until three days ago when my cousin thanked my mother for introducing the whole family to the pediatrician my parents used to take my siblings and me to.
To our surprise, the next day the doctor passed away. I know for sure he did not remember me, I have grown twice taller and have matured. I had almost no memory of his face, I only remember his name, a name he shared with Kentucky Fried Chicken’s famous founder, and the feel of his cold stethoscope on my skin.
Yet I felt a pang of sadness when I received the news. I was not alone though: the funeral home was filled with people around my parents’s age who whispered to each other, guessing which people might be the family and closest relatives, the ones who should receive their condolences.
I’ve been to funerals with a lot of guests and I always picture how my funerals would be like. Will there be a lot of people I know coming? Or better, people I don’t really know, those who only meet me once or twice.
I guess I might have to start being extra nice to my students.
