After the death of his young son on Christmas Eve 1877, the painter Sir Luke Fildes had been so impressed with the physician who cared for the dying child that he produced this work in tribute. The painting captures a vivid childhood image I have of my own physician father.
On winter nights after dinner I would join him on housecalls to the home of a patient who was homebound, often dying. I was curious and always eager to spend time with my Dad. He happens to be one of the most good-natured men you would ever meet. His temperament is one of radiant warmth and open-handed kindness. In a long topcoat, with black leather bag in hand, his entrance into those dark farmhouses would bring a new life to the room, and a light to the deathbed. His power in those moments was complete. With gentle words of explanation, a warm hand across the shoulder, and that intent gaze, he could transform despair and grief into hope and acceptance. He was a magician; a force of nature in my eyes. His countenance seemed to me so suited to the role of the bedside physician that compassion seemed to flow from him before he even spoke.

There are so many forces now in modern medicine that seem designed only to estrange doctors from their bedside talents. The meds and the machinery do have their role to play. But there is nothing that can substitute for the presence of that graceful gentleman in black at your side.