Dr. Eggleston tells a simple story of how and when she decided to become a veterinarian. She was nine and at a family get together of mostly adults, her and her two brothers and a few cousins. An aunt asked her, in that condescending yet well-meaning way adults often talk to other people’s young children, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Aimee’s father, I can call her Aimee because I’m her husband and because I know her too well to call her Doctor, was at her side and answered for her: “She is going to be a veterinarian.”

It is unclear how Aimee’s father got the idea. To that point Aimee had never expressed the idea herself. But maybe seeing her daughter’s love of horses, growing stronger since her first pony ride at the age of five, and maybe because even then Aimee seemed a child of ability, the idea crystallized in his head.

When Aimee’s father spoke that word, “veterinarian,” the idea also crystallized in Aimee’s head. From that moment forward, she would answer the same way her father did, substituting 1st person for 2nd: “I am going to be a veterinarian.” I don’t know what it feels like to know the profession, the meaningful work of one’s adult years — as a child. But Aimee did and it started, in a real way, at age nine with her father’s pronouncement.

It may be that Aimee would have become a veterinarian absent her father’s words. But that is not to diminish this moment in Aimee’s life. Aimee can draw a line from the right hind lameness, and the colic emergency she saw today to her father’s words 24 years ago. The moment was a defining one.

. . .

The remarkable thing about this story, any story about the small happenings of lives, is that small events in one person’s life affect so many people. Aimee’s father’s words become interwoven with her life, mine, and yours. I met Aimee while she was completing a veterinary internship in Charlottesville, VA. Had Aimee chosen another profession, she would not have been in Charlottesville in the summer of 2000 and I would not have met my then future wife. I would not have started an equine veterinary business with my wife. I would not have moved to New England. I would not have done or experienced so many small and large things that are now part of my history — the experiences, and people and events that interweave, with those that came before, to form my personhood.

The line that Aimee can draw from her father to her graduation from veterinary school extends to me. When Dr. Eggleston treats your horse, that line extends to you. The veterinarian that treated your horse’s lameness, the veterinarian that did the purchase exam on your daughter’s first horse, the veterinarian who saw your horse through his last days, would have been another had Aimee’s life run differently. You, as well as I, can draw the connections. The bond between father and child, six words that connected with the mind of a young girl and planted the seed of a life’s vocation, the specific history, times and places, of a dream realized, the love of horses, are the things that connect Aimee’s father, Aimee, me and you.

. . .

It was a hard spring and summer for Aimee. She was incredibly busy with the season’s preventative medicine appointments, sometimes working from as early as 4am till 10 at night. Our business is relatively new and there’s still a lot to accomplish — adding to Aimee’s workload. But most importantly, Aimee’s father died on April 7th. He died from an aggressive and in his case a wholly untreatable cancer: pleural mesothelioma.

Aimee’s father was diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma, a cancer caused by previous and often long ago asbestos exposure, last October. His cancer emerged 30 to 40 years after his last asbestos exposure — the asbestos laden hulls and wiring of U.S. Naval and Coast Guard vessels. In a cruel twist of time, a disease that had its roots in decades past took less than 6 months to take Aimee’s father life. He shared Christmas with his family; he passed the day before Easter.

Aimee held up incredibly under the weight of her personal tragedy. She knew the character and disposition of her father’s cancer; she knew that time was precious, more so because it was short. She knew that her mother and two brothers needed her in their collective heartbreak. In this knowledge, as Aimee’s father succumbed over the winter and early spring, Aimee was constantly at his side, and with her mother, in Maine. But she was also here in Connecticut working for the patients and clients that depended on her.

Aimee balanced the needs of her family, her commitment to her father, and her commitment to her patients by working longer and sleeping less. There were canceled appointments, but they were few; when they occurred they were made up for by 6am, evening, or Sunday appointments. Evening trips to Maine meant long and early morning drives to the next day’s first appointment. Mornings when I would arise at 6am, I knew she had already been up for hours, writing reports, sending emails, and preparing lab work. Aimee worked tirelessly for her patients even in the face of great personal loss.

Aimee continued to throw herself into her work, I believe, because work offered relief from the emotions of loss. It is hard to grieve or be angry when appointments don’t leave time for those emotions, when patients’ needs are present and pressing. Work becomes a way to feel whole.

Aimee continued to work tirelessly, I believe, because her veterinary vocation honors her father. When Aimee cares for the horses in our lives, that care connects Aimee to her father — through her childhood memories and through his words that foretold the present: “She is going to be a veterinarian.” Aimee’s veterinary vocation invokes the bond between father and daughter. It honors his vision. It makes him proud. In a small way Aimee’s father becomes present in the care she provides. His presence is not tangible to us, but as cancer withered his earthly being and then took it entirely, his presence was palpable to his devoted daughter.

. . .

The story Aimee tells of when she first decided to become a veterinarian is a cherished childhood memory. But it becomes more, a story of how a few words influence the course of a life and of how that life interweaves with others — mine, yours, our horses, and many others. The story also becomes one that provides meaning and solace in the face of great loss, a way to honor a dying father.

. . .

Aimee eulogized her father on April 12th, 2007 in the town of her birth. She laid him to rest with her mother and two brothers in the National Cemetery in Bourne, Massachusetts.

. . .

Aimee and I would like to extend heartfelt gratitude to the clients and veterinarians (and horses) that provided support and understanding during this difficult time. The doctors that provided Aimee coverage allowing Aimee to be with her father and her family, the clients that were understanding with canceled appointments and other inconveniences, the thoughts and prayers of both, the horses that never wavered… Thank you.

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