My brother, Bo, was only 34 when he died of Stage IV melanoma, which had metastasized to his brain. Still, we got to spend almost an extra year with him, thanks to a talented neurosurgeon—he was optimistic but honest about how removing several tumors would affect Bo’s prognosis.
In the sadness that followed Bo’s death, I felt the urge to write the neurosurgeon a thank-you letter from our family. It took six months of jotting down our feelings before I finally finished it. I put the letter in a card that had a soaring eagle on the front—the neurosurgeon had mentioned someone once told him he was strong like an eagle. I also made a CD of my brother’s favorite songs.
God, I hope I did what you wanted, I thought. And I hope the doctor does not think I am totally ridiculous.
He did not. “I’ve never received anything like this,” he told me. We’ve corresponded a few more times over the past 14 years. It makes me glad I reached out and that he knows how much my family appreciated his work.
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