Honoring my father: Life Lessons from a Doctor's Final Journey

Life unfolds in ways we can never anticipate, filled with mysteries and moments of serendipity.

Last month, my life changed in a way I could never have imagined. Just a day after I returned from my Integrative Medicine Fellowship graduation, I learned that my father, a pediatrician, was admitted to the hospital in India. Within days, he was diagnosed with Stage 4 metastatic hepatocellular carcinoma, advanced and incurable in his case. He swiftly chose palliative care and hospice, facing his death with a calm acceptance and a strength that had a ripple effect on all of us.

On October 31st, he passed peacefully at home, pain-controlled and surrounded by family and friends, just as he wanted. He took his last breath with his wife of 48 years by his side, her one hand holding his and the other hand on his Ajna (Third-eye) Chakra.

I had the privilege of being by his side during the last four weeks of his life, switching roles between doctor and daughter. (I am deeply grateful to everyone who made it possible for me to be there with him and all the doctors who treated him). The experience was surreal and deeply grounding.

He was around when I took my first breath and I was there when he breathed his last, a circle completed.

It's impossible to capture his life and the impact it had on us, but as I process the grief, I want to share the profound life lessons he left me during his final days.

1. A doctor's peace with their mortality shapes their care for others and the grace with which they accept their final moments.

We recently discussed this during my fellowship, but I saw it firsthand in my father's calm acceptance of his prognosis. Knowing fully what lay ahead, he remained stoic and at peace- a strength that carried us all through a very difficult time. His patients, most now in their 40s and 50s, still remember how he made them feel because he truly embodied this quality. They shared how their parents would be naturally anxious but they found hope and comfort in my dad's calmness.

Towards his final days, when it was difficult for me as a daughter to watch him in this state, I would remind myself of how my dad would have wanted me to maintain my composure as a doctor- stay calm and at peace, believing we're doing the best we can for others. I was reminded of finding peace with my mortality- that I believe, influenced the care I was able to provide for him.

2. Live a life that builds a legacy in those who love you.

My father left a legacy of kindness, generosity, and connection. He touched countless lives, many of whom I'd never met, came forward to share stories of his quiet acts of service. I've spent a fair share of my time thinking about legacy. It's not that complicated. Legacy, I learned, isn't about wealth or status- it's about living by your values and leaving others better than you found them (as much as you can of course).

My mother, also a retired gynecologist, would still joke about how she would have loved to be one of my dad's patients' because she was jealous of how much love and attention they received from him. One employee recalled how my father celebrated his baby's birth by distributing sweets (a cultural practice when sharing your joy with others).

This Pediatricians heart loved children- even during his last days when his response to us was dwindling, we were surprised at how he gathered the strength to respond, in kind, to the babbling sounds of one of his grandchildren. All his grandchildren are now also going to miss their regular supply of chocolates and other gifts.

What greater proof of a life well-lived than being surrounded by siblings, children, and loved ones, who care for you and shower you with love in your final moments?

3. Equality is a value taught by action.

My father raised my sister and me, with opportunities given to any son in his generation....perhaps even more. We were raised with the spirit of equality. He invested in technology for us (desktop computers in the late 80s, mobile phones in the mid-'90s- I remember using the large Motorola phone during my medical school admissions process) and supported, or at least didn't oppose, unconventional pursuits like my quest for mountaineering (I can see now, how difficult it must be for a parent to let their teenager daughter go off in the mountains for weeks).

My parents are the reason I became a doctor. Thanks to the opportunities they made possible, I was able to study the art and science of medicine and much more. In a profound twist of fate, I found myself using those very skills to care for him in his final days. Karma, perhaps?

When we performed his last rites, a role traditionally reserved for sons and their descendants, few people were uncomfortable, most were supportive, for they knew that it was what he would have wanted. This sent a message of equality and strength that will be passed down through our family.

In the end, in our relationship, the good times and bad, the discussions and arguments, the understanding and misunderstandings, moments of pride and embarrassment, the encouraging words and criticisms, the experiences we had due to your love for dogs, technology, and children- I wouldn't change a thing.

Thank you, Daddy.... for everything.