One month ago, I said goodbye to my father.
Today, I unlocked his locker for the very first time.

The smell of antiseptic and faint traces of aftershave hit me before I even swung the door open. It was the same locker he had used for years in the hospital where he served the Seneca community for more than two decades. He was an Anesthesiologist for 23 years—a healer, a comforter, and a man whose patients were never just names on a chart. To him, they were friends. Family. People to be cared for with dignity, patience, and compassion.

In November 2016, our lives changed forever. The diagnosis was brutal: stage 4 cholangiocarcinoma—bile duct cancer. But my father never allowed the illness to take away his purpose. He kept showing up for people, even when the days grew harder and his body weaker. He faced each moment with faith, courage, and the same kindness that had defined his entire career.

On May 20, 2017, surrounded by love, he went to be with his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I was left with the ache of loss… and the deep imprint of his example.

My dad wasn’t just a doctor. He was my role model. The most incredible man I have ever known. He lived what he believed: that medicine is not just about treating illness, but about caring for souls.

When I started my own journey at the hospital this June, I thought I was just beginning a career. But when the doctors handed me the key to his old locker, it became something more—a passing of the torch.

I ran my fingers over the worn metal, imagining the countless times he had stood here, preparing for another day of service. This was the place where he tied his gown, slipped on his gloves, and readied himself to help someone in need. Now, it’s where I will do the same.

It’s more than a locker. It’s a daily reminder of the man who taught me that skill means nothing without compassion, that every patient deserves to be treated like family, and that even the smallest gestures can leave a lifelong impact.

As I step into my scrubs and prepare for my shifts, I carry him with me—in my heart, in my work, and now, in the very space where he once stood.

I don’t just want to follow in his footsteps. I want to walk them with the same grace, humility, and love that he showed to every person he met.

And every time I turn that key, I’ll remember: this is where my father began each day, ready to help others. And now, it’s my turn.