Susan Olmstead Wang

Paul Kalanithi concludes his gorgeous, heart-breaking book, “When Breath Becomes Air” (Random House, 2016), with these words to his infant daughter as he lies dying:
“When you come to one of the many moments in life where you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more but rests, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is an enormous thing” (p. 199).
I have labored with love for decades to convey to my nephews how much my dear brother loved them although he had to leave them when they were 3 and 1. Dr. Kalanithi’s words do that job for heartbroken children of those who left too soon. The black hole of loss would suck us in; we need to cling to the knowledge that simply being who we are is enough to sate a hungry soul. For you R & W, B & C, and CF & RF — your very existence, your selves comforted your hurting parents as they had to trust you to an unknown world.