Transcript

I only really knew my grandfather when he had a beer belly and when most of his vocabulary was some kind of curse word. I only really knew this guy who talked for hours and hours about how he really stuck it to the man by finding a grocery store that sold his favorite peanut butter for 10 cents less. I only really knew this guy who used to burp and then say, "Ahem-pardon my French." He was an alcoholic, he wasn't very gentle, he seemed crass and angry...but when both of my grandparents died my dad found in the attic of their house, a box of my grandfather's things. And in it was a picture of him standing by a line of tanks, in Germany, during World War II. So even though this guy was my grandfather, I didn't know this guy. This guy was handsome and thin, this guy was a tank commander...and on the back of the picture was written a note to my grandmother. He said, "These tanks, mired in the mud, look like a line of elephants. I miss and love you, love Albert." This was my grandfather at his best. My Philosophy of Healthcare is, if we can strive to see the best version of each person even when they're at their worst, we will, even for a moment, be healers.