Dear Me, From the Years of Silenceā
Dear me, the one who trembled in crisp white shoes,
who stared at monitors like they held the secrets of life,
who whispered promises you werenāt sure you could keepā
listen.
I am you, many decades older,
hands lined with stories you cannot yet imagine,
eyes heavy with sights no one warned you about,
heart full of memories that both heal and haunt.
I wish I could tell you:
The nights you skipped meals, the birthdays you missed,
the tears you swallowed so families could smileā
they mattered more than you thought.
Yet I also wish I had paused more,
held hands longer,
listened deeper.
Mistakes? Oh, I made many.
I let pride shadow humility,
I rushed when patience was needed,
I forgot to care for myself while caring for the world.
If I could, I would tell you:
Every life you touch matters,
but so does your own.
Do not fear exhaustion,
do not dread failure,
do not question worth.
Your presence is more powerful than any protocol,
your compassion more enduring than any skill.
When you finally hang up your scrubs,
when the halls fall silent without your footsteps,
you will realize this truth:
The love you poured out was never wasted.
The lives you held, the pain you soothed,
the hope you carriedā
they are your legacy.
So, dear me, do better where you can,
but forgive yourself for what you could not.
Carry courage in your hands,
gentleness in your heart,
and gratitude in your soul.
The years will be long,
the work relentless,
but the honor is yours.
You will leave the world better
for having walked these halls.
