As paths cross throughout life, some prints make a deeper impact than others, on each of us. It is likely those who first held our children, made some of those deeper ones.

The ability to touch hearts comes in many forms, like song writing or painting, but the skill of letting others know they matter, or that they are cared for, may be the most rare form. Eventually we are all going to be known and remembered for something.

There is much to recall by many, and here are a few of my memories. I will remember red pickup trucks, roses, and babies, and the encouraging statement “you’re doing a much better job of this than I could do!” for mothers-to-be who were in their pushing stage; but one very important quality Dr. Gene Cook had was taking an extra moment for people. Time, a valuable commodity in a physician’s life, can make a world of difference. A moment of thoughtfulness, like a sympathetic phone call, or writing down the name of a hearing aid specialist for an obstinate nurse who blamed his soft voice instead of her aging ears, was kind, but even kinder was his smile at her denial. That’s just one of a hundred things I remember.

How many reassuring words from Dr. Cook, calmly escorted a patient through her pregnancy? How many supporting affirmations were given to the heart broken families who waited but did not conceive? How many warm hugs and words of ‘well done’ kept a nurse on her tired feet? Never too busy to hear an update or concern for patients’ changes or lack thereof, he was swift to reply, swift to appear. Many unit clerks and nurses’ jobs were made easier by Dr. Cook’s clear orders and perfect handwriting. As the computer age rolled in, so did his efforts to help us merge the old with the new, one way or the other. (Only the nurses will get that last statement.)

While we have struggled these last few days to wrap our heads around the reality of our loss, indeed our community’s loss, we have sobbed with sadness, shaken our heads with disbelief, and remembered with fondness the man Gene Cook, the physician Dr. Charles Eugene Cook, our friend, Doctor Cook. Each person who was privileged to meet him will have their own memories, and impressions. To be so soft spoken and humble, he sure made an impact. I can see him now, hands clasped and elbows on knees, sitting in a rolling chair at the nurses’ station, and gently turning his head side to side as a denial of any accolades for himself. He would instead, be watching for the “okay” that the surgery crew was ready for him to enter the cold sterile room where he would quickly and adeptly bring a warm screaming life into the world, by way of cesarean section. There was no waiting on him; he was johnny-on-the-spot! Or, he would be donning gown and gloves, having orchestrated long hours of a successful labor and the eventual delivery of one more new life. Whether one who was first touched by Dr. Cook’s capable hands, or the grateful new parent, or a fellow care provider so glad for the intense concern for excellent outcomes, or just a nurse who was thankful Dr. Cook had her back, we can all say thank you; from the heart, thank you Dr. Cook!

Of all my memories, I want to share this one because it speaks to me of Dr. Cook’s attitude in general. It didn’t take long to find we shared the enjoyment of tending roses. He appreciated the beauty of the few nice specimens I took to share at work, and I appreciated his knowledge of rose care and of varieties. He often asked, “How are your roses doing?” When the virus we called ‘witches broom’ struck so many, wiping out entire gardens for some, we lamented our concerns for it. One day after his asking about my roses, I began fussing about a particular bush I had not pruned in the winter and the resulting growth was quite gnarly; poorly blooming and just a mess. He then stopped me by saying, “Never bad-talk your roses”. Exactly. And Dr. Cook lived by that rule as far as I ever knew. His roses, his people, whatever he cared about may have gotten constructive criticism, but there was no ‘bad-talking’ them. His level of care for his patients was, well, on a scale of one to ten, a twelve. I believe I can speak for others perhaps who worked behind the scenes with him, and beside him, in assuring you he always wanted the best, not just okay, but the best outcome. For everyone. Every time.

My sincere sympathy goes out to the family of Dr. Gene Cook. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5:4