If you’re पढ़ना this, आप already know
It had been ten years since Lawrence Kutner had left the practice of Dr. Gregory House. It had been nine years since he’d been married. It had been eight years since they’d adopted their daughter from India, and seven years since they’d purchased their first house.
It had been a week since he’d attended his wife’s funeral.
They were cleaning out the house now, getting ready to हटाइए to some place smaller. Ever since his wife had been unable to work and her medical bills had started to steadily increase money had been tight.
He was rummaging through the closet throwing things into assorted boxes. It hadn’t taken him long. All his wife’s things had been packed into boxes and stored in the attic long ago, once it had been determined that she wouldn’t be needing them anymore, and he didn’t have many clothes.
He was throwing one last pair of shoes into a box when it crossed his eye, something he had missed, something that had belonged to his wife.
It was a tiny jewelry box, one for a ring. He considered leaving it closed, wondering if he could handle another painful reminder of the days when his wife had even been able to put on a ring. He sat there hold that little box for a while, until curiosity finally overcame him and he popped it open.
But he was surprised to find that there was no ring in the box. There was only a folder up piece of paper tucked into the pouch.
Kutner picked it from the box and carefully unfolded it.
I’m not going to address this note, because I don’t know who it will go to.
It’s May 20, 2008. I discovered yesterday that I test positive for Huntington’s disease, but if you’re पढ़ना this note, आप already know that. If आप were the first to read this note, आप may already know that आप were the most important person to me. The reason I don’t know who this note will go to because, at the time of my death, I’m not sure who that will be.
I’m लेखन this now because I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to write, and I don’t even know if I will have found my most important person द्वारा then.
I just want आप to know that, whoever आप are, I loved आप very much, and if I have any children, though I’m sure I won’t, for obvious reasons, I’d like आप to tell them that I loved them too.
I hope आप don’t find this two long after my death, but if आप found it, आप can rest assured that it was intended for you, because I hid it somewhere I knew आप would be the one to find it.
I just figured I’d leave a note, because I know I won’t be able to talk when I die, and I could hardly express these feelings in any other way.
Whether you’re a doctor, a friend, a (former) colleague, या someone else, I’d like आप to know how much I appreciated your sticking with me to the end.
I don’t know what else I can say, because I don’t know who आप are, but whoever आप are, I hope I say anything else I want आप to hear before आप read this, because if you’re पढ़ना this, I’m already gone.
I don’t really know how to end this note either, because I don’t know what name you’ll no me by, so I just going to guess and hope that even if I’m wrong, you’ll still know who this note is from.
Thirteen
It had been years since Kutner had heard his wife called that, but at the time she’d written this, that was the only name he’d ever heard her called by.
Kutner stared at the note for a long time before stowing it in his pocket. Even though it was incredibly impersonal, because she hadn’t known who she was लेखन it to, it was special, because she had meant it for him.
It would be five और years until he would attend the funeral of the one other person he could think of that she might have been expecting the note to go to when she wrote it. It would be ten years until he watched his daughter graduate from high school and eighteen years until he would see her graduate from medical school. It would be twenty years before He would rejoice with his daughter over her new job at the very hospital where he’d met her mother. It would be twenty-five years until he met his first grandchild and twenty-seven years until he met his second. It would be forty-two years until he could, once again, sleep अगला to his wife, and every दिन of those forty-two years, even to his funeral, he carried that note in his pocket.
It had been ten years since Lawrence Kutner had left the practice of Dr. Gregory House. It had been nine years since he’d been married. It had been eight years since they’d adopted their daughter from India, and seven years since they’d purchased their first house.
It had been a week since he’d attended his wife’s funeral.
They were cleaning out the house now, getting ready to हटाइए to some place smaller. Ever since his wife had been unable to work and her medical bills had started to steadily increase money had been tight.
He was rummaging through the closet throwing things into assorted boxes. It hadn’t taken him long. All his wife’s things had been packed into boxes and stored in the attic long ago, once it had been determined that she wouldn’t be needing them anymore, and he didn’t have many clothes.
He was throwing one last pair of shoes into a box when it crossed his eye, something he had missed, something that had belonged to his wife.
It was a tiny jewelry box, one for a ring. He considered leaving it closed, wondering if he could handle another painful reminder of the days when his wife had even been able to put on a ring. He sat there hold that little box for a while, until curiosity finally overcame him and he popped it open.
But he was surprised to find that there was no ring in the box. There was only a folder up piece of paper tucked into the pouch.
Kutner picked it from the box and carefully unfolded it.
I’m not going to address this note, because I don’t know who it will go to.
It’s May 20, 2008. I discovered yesterday that I test positive for Huntington’s disease, but if you’re पढ़ना this note, आप already know that. If आप were the first to read this note, आप may already know that आप were the most important person to me. The reason I don’t know who this note will go to because, at the time of my death, I’m not sure who that will be.
I’m लेखन this now because I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to write, and I don’t even know if I will have found my most important person द्वारा then.
I just want आप to know that, whoever आप are, I loved आप very much, and if I have any children, though I’m sure I won’t, for obvious reasons, I’d like आप to tell them that I loved them too.
I hope आप don’t find this two long after my death, but if आप found it, आप can rest assured that it was intended for you, because I hid it somewhere I knew आप would be the one to find it.
I just figured I’d leave a note, because I know I won’t be able to talk when I die, and I could hardly express these feelings in any other way.
Whether you’re a doctor, a friend, a (former) colleague, या someone else, I’d like आप to know how much I appreciated your sticking with me to the end.
I don’t know what else I can say, because I don’t know who आप are, but whoever आप are, I hope I say anything else I want आप to hear before आप read this, because if you’re पढ़ना this, I’m already gone.
I don’t really know how to end this note either, because I don’t know what name you’ll no me by, so I just going to guess and hope that even if I’m wrong, you’ll still know who this note is from.
Thirteen
It had been years since Kutner had heard his wife called that, but at the time she’d written this, that was the only name he’d ever heard her called by.
Kutner stared at the note for a long time before stowing it in his pocket. Even though it was incredibly impersonal, because she hadn’t known who she was लेखन it to, it was special, because she had meant it for him.
It would be five और years until he would attend the funeral of the one other person he could think of that she might have been expecting the note to go to when she wrote it. It would be ten years until he watched his daughter graduate from high school and eighteen years until he would see her graduate from medical school. It would be twenty years before He would rejoice with his daughter over her new job at the very hospital where he’d met her mother. It would be twenty-five years until he met his first grandchild and twenty-seven years until he met his second. It would be forty-two years until he could, once again, sleep अगला to his wife, and every दिन of those forty-two years, even to his funeral, he carried that note in his pocket.