Regret.

It's something I don't feel very often. I believe in the Butterfly Effect that any small, tiny change would have taken my life in a different direction. And I'm fortunate to love my life. So I don't regret very much because I don't wish for anything in my life to be different (though I do wish for other people's lives to be different).

Two weeks ago, I did feel a strong sense of regret. I found out that Ron Wilson died. He was a former Vice Chancellor at UC Irvine, and he got me into UC Davis medical school. I hadn't seen or spoken to him in nearly three years. The last time was Thanksgiving of my first year of medical school. And now I'm a fourth-year. Not only had I not seen or spoken to him in so long, I had seriously contemplated visiting him this past summer when I was in southern California. But I didn't follow through. I can't for the life of me remember any specific reason why I didn't follow through. Just a general mis-prioritization. I knew he was old and ill. I missed my chance.

I immediately started sobbing when I read that he died. I believe the source of the sobbing was regret more than grief. This man was a huge reason why my life is so great, and I never told him how wonderful medical school has been. I never told him that I chose Family Medicine. He would have been so proud.

I called his wife to give her my condolences, and she ended up comforting me. I told her about how I wish I kept in touch better, and she told me that he wasn't doing well in the past year. Then she told me that even though he died >1 month ago, the memorial service was the following week! I knew I had to go.

It is quite coincidental that I found out about Ron's death. My sister's friend Lisa told me. She works in the UCI Chancellor office and I had told her about Ron Wilson nearly 2 years ago. She actually had heard about him from other people in the office and Ron's daughter worked there too. I was so lucky to find out from her.

Though a trip to OC was unexpected, David and I managed quite nicely to attend 2 memorial services in OC in the same week. And it was actually a very wonderful trip where we spent quality time with a good amount of people without feeling too spread thin. Including David's childhood friends I've never met before.

Ron's memorial service was attended by ~300 people. They even ran out of programs, and Ron's wife Carol graciously gave me hers. They displayed his beautiful photography of landscapes and portraits. Ron had said he would give me one of his prints, and again I didn't follow through. The quotes from the speakers I purposely remembered were:

"Ron didn't just touch people's lives, he altered their lives in a positive direction." Spoken by a former mentee of his who is now a fellowship-trained doctor. I had to introduce myself to him. Ron had a 100% track record of getting students into medical school, and I'm pretty sure I was the last one. Ron retired from UCI before 2002, so I'm from a totally different generation of students. I had to meet the doctor who spoke. We are both products of Ron Wilson's mentoring. I told him I was a fourth-year medical student and that Ron helped me get into medical school. And he said, "if Ron believed in you, you must be special." He also said that we are supposed to be celebrating his life, but it's hard to celebrate when the guest of honor isn't here.

"He believed in me when I didn't believe in myself." Spoken by his successor, who was hand-picked by Ron to succeed him. This reminded me of when I was driving up for my interview at UC Davis. We were on I-5 and had passed 152, the farthest north on the 5 I had ever been. That's when the nerves of my first medical school interview hit me. I started having palpitations. And then I thought about Ron. I remember he told me to believe in myself. Words that are said all the time, but rang true coming from him. I was able to share this with Ron after my interview. He even bragged about it to his wife Carol. I cherish that.

"Carol was his rock." David hugged me tighter when these words were spoken and whispered in my ear, "thank you for being my rock." I love my man.

I learned that Ron had a heart transplant in 2002. He was days from dying, and they could not find a heart big enough for him. How poetic.

Jodaiko gave a wonderful performance at the beginning of the service. Jodaiko is the taiko Japanese drum group at UCI. I didn't know Ron that well, but I even knew that he always wanted Jodaiko to perform at his funeral. It was a little surreal to watch the performance. Ron had wanted this for many, many years, and there they were.

I no longer feel regret about having not kept in touch better. Attending that memorial service showed me that Ron impacted many, many people's lives. He knew what a great life he lived. He knew how he helped so many people. There is no need for me to dwell on my relationship with him specifically.

He wrote a letter to all of us, and it was in the program. It was a very interesting letter about how he's hanging out with all these cool people in heaven now. And that he wants to hear from us. I find myself back to a naive, younger version of myself wishing that heaven does exist. Wishing that there is more to this life, and that he was able to enjoy the Jodaiko performance too. Wishing that he knows how grateful I am for the impact he's had on me and my life.

If you're listening, Ron. I want you to know that I'm going into Family Medicine to help transform the health of our country. That I will be a kind doctor that makes my patients feel valued. That I will always remember what you did for me.