Les
Good afternoon. On behalf of our family and particularly our four sons, I would like to welcome you and thank you for being here to celebrate Kim’s incredible life and join with us in expressing our admiration and love for her.
We hope that you have had a chance to look at the website that our boys set up in memory of Kim and read some of the hundreds and hundreds of messages that appeared online after her passing, messages from friends and colleagues, but most significantly, stories from her patients expressing their heartfelt appreciation for the compassionate care she provided them over the years. You may have also read my letter to Kim, written over the first couple of days after her passing, in which I too expressed my admiration and love for her and also attempt to briefly tell the story of her amazing life. With your indulgence, I would like to now continue that letter to Kim.
During the past few weeks after you left us, my darling Kim, our sons and I have spent a great deal of time talking about your life and our lives together, smiling and laughing about the wonderful times, and often crying knowing that you are no longer with us to create more of those happy times. Of course, we talked about you as a doctor, how hard you worked, how dedicated you were to your patients and your unrelenting commitment to provide all of them the best and most compassionate care possible. We remarked that we often had expressed our pride in you and bragged about your skills and dedication, but, surprisingly, we all also acknowledged that we really didn’t fully comprehend the impact you had on so many until we read the outpouring of stories from your colleagues and patients. Only then did we fully understand the full impact of your professional life. But how could we have understood unless we were in the room with your patients, saw what you did, heard what you said. And since you haven’t read those messages, I would like to read some of them now so you can hear that impact described in your patients’ own words. In so doing, my dear Kim, Understand that what I will read is only a small sampling of the sentiments expressed time and time again by your colleagues and patients.
First from nurses, medical assistants, and technicians, that you worked with:
She took me under her wing as a brand new baby nurse. She taught me so much about medicine, obstetrics and gynecology, and most importantly, she taught me so much about life.
What an astounding legacy this amazing physician, mother, and mentor Dr. Roos has left. I will forever cherish the deliveries I was able to attend with her and the time she spent to talk with me and teach, even if it was at 3 am in the morning.
I’ve never worked with a surgeon that cared so much for her patients. She was always encouraging me and trying to help me become better.
Just the way she cared for patients made you want to do the same.
My experience with you changed me as a nurse. Thank you for showing me compassion, which reminded me why we do what we do.
One from one of the many of the nurses that later became your patients - Dr. Roos was my absolute favorite doctor when I worked with her in Labor & Delivery. I then chose her to be my OB/GYN because she was always so caring, loving, and genuine in her care of her patients.
She was a fantastic example of a skilled clinician, excellent patient advocate, but mostly just a kind human. I am thankful for the time working beside her and having her as my provider.
And now Kim, the words of your patients:
The second she walked into the room I felt her love.
She called me at 7:45 in the morning to go over my test results and stayed on the phone until I was done crying and she knew I was ok.
You are the greatest; always listening and taking my concerns to heart and then finding the medical resolutions
And this one as opposed to the others is from a father, who explained that he was embarrassed and reluctant because his wife and he were on Medicaid because his business had failed – But he need not have worried. He wrote - You have been so patient and kind to us when you could have judged us. You have no clue how much I respect you and thank you.
And one from a patient, who like you, faced cancer - when I heard that word everyone hates she told me it would be okay, she held me in her arms and cried with me, she looked me in my eyes and told me she would pray for me and she would take the greatest care of me and she did, she told me it would all be okay and fast forward in time, it is!
I’m telling you I experienced 10+ years of being told my symptoms were normal and not to worry. But to her it mattered, and she was not giving up until we figured it out and we did.
She held my hand in the OR as I was being put to sleep because she could see my panic.
During my c section she was the one who held me when I got my spinal. She talked to me throughout while performing my surgery, assuring me everything was ok
Always smiling, happy, full of pure joy! But Dr Roos, that woman never left my side during my pregnancy, would call me after office hours from her personal phone to check on me. That’s how much she cared
Dr. Roos -you saved my life.
And now Kim, several from mothers for whom you brought precious new life into the world.
I'm going to hug my baby extra tight tonight with gratitude that Dr. Roos was the reason she's with me today.
This hurts my heart so bad. I know Dr. Roos lost sleep over me a couple times. She made me feel like I was the only patient she had. I will forever be thankful for her giving me my babies and saving my life.
You truly saved my life – I know that without a doubt, you also saved my son’s life .
She was an incredible doctor and saved my life not just once but twice. If it wasn’t for her, me and all three of my girls probably wouldn’t even be here.
This woman is the only reason my daughter and I are alive.
Those words are about you, my love, and describe what you accomplished despite the obstacles you had to overcome to achieve success. You who, unfortunately, while still in your teens was told by your father that you had to be “out the door “ at 18 and on your own, and you were, supporting yourself really since you were 16 and caring for your mother in her time of need when you were still a teenager. Only a high school graduate when we started our family and the same person who after our first two boys, Jason and Logan, were born attempted to begin your pursuit of higher education taking a couple of freshman intro courses at a local college. I remember coming home from work that first day of classes, excited to hear how it went, and when I asked, with embarrassment you said that “you looked into the first classroom and couldn’t walk in because you didn’t have the confidence, didn’t think you belonged.” But later you did start at a community college and then transferred to the University of Colorado, and even after a tremendously successful college education, many honors, Phi Beta Kappa, 4.0 grades, you were initially rejected by the Univ of Colorado Medical School because they didn’t believe someone a number of years older than their typical applicant, much less a mother of four young children, could make it through the rigors of medical school. How wrong they were. Nothing was given to you, nothing assumed, and you had many difficult obstacles to overcome for anyone much less a mother of four. But what determination, what strength in refusing to give up and never letting your dream die.
And what a legacy you now leave behind my dear. Reading those messages again reminds me of something I said to you many times. Yes, you are my adored and loving wife, but you are also my hero.-- A life so well lived.
Yes, hard work, dedication, commitment to staying current and honing your clinical and surgical skills contributed to your success and resulted in you being such a determined and confident physician, but I think the real source of your achievements is shown by the simple answer you gave to a question I asked – “Kim, if you could do anything, be whatever you wanted to be, what would it be; and you answered without hesitation – an OBGYN physician.” How many of us can say that. I did exactly what I wanted to do; I was what I loved and what I dreamed about becoming. Not many, but you can. And, yes, your patients were blessed, but so were you blessed because, in your all too short life, you lived your dream. In my grief in your passing, I find comfort in knowing that.
Kim, the boys and I also talked about something that pained and worried you. You worried that your burdensome work and particularly the approximate year and a half you spent at Penn State Medical School before transferring to Univ of Colorado, caused you to be separated from the boys more than you wanted and you worried how that might impact them. That pain and worry was evident after the induction ceremony at Penn State for you and the other medical students, which the boys and I attended, and we were so proud of you because of what you were achieving. But after that, you had to take us to the airport for our flight back to Denver. I vividly remember that day, before we boarded our flight, you collapsed in a corner of the airport crying uncontrollably, inconsolable, because you were about to face the biggest challenge of your life; sure, medical school would be hard and a real challenge, but no, the real challenge you faced was being away from the family you loved and the sons you adored.
But my darling, you need not have worried. The boys said these past couple of weeks that they knew you worked hard and have some recollection of your time in Hershey, but they never felt you were absent from their lives, that they were deprived of your love and devotion. To the contrary, they told me that they always felt your devotion and commitment, your total support of them, and they knew you were always there for them. They remembered the times when you had a few days off while at Penn State, you would hop in your car and drive 24 hours straight to be home with us. And anyone looking at the video that the boys put together of when they were little and that we will show later, can see the nurturing love of a devoted mother given unconditionally to her children. They knew you were pursuing a dream, but they also knew they were part of that dream and that they had already satisfied your primary and most important dream, that is, to be a mother. And as we talked these past weeks, they all said to me, “Yes, we knew Mommy was a great doctor, but she was an even better mother.”
And now, my darling, you as my wife. That’s easy, you satisfied all my dreams, all my wishes, you were perfect. But, of course, no marriage is perfect. Marriage is hard, it takes work, time and effort. And for us, we didn’t start out 39 years ago, 38 of them married, as “two peas in a pod.” We were so different, not only in age, religious background, even somewhat in upbringing, but also in interests, in hobbies, in what we liked to do. But I see it like a puzzle with pieces spread out on the floor looking unconnected and chaotic but when the pieces are joined, they reflect a beautiful picture. And over the years as we worked together, facing challenges and pursuing goals, our differences faded, and we became one moving in unison. I believe we were able to do that because, despite our differences, we shared a couple of fundamental beliefs. Devotion to family, as I’ve mentioned before as to our boys but also to extended family; caring for parents, helping siblings, providing guidance for nephews and nieces. But most importantly, we shared a commitment to each other. Devotion, passion, fidelity, sacrifice, putting the other first to help each of us achieve our goals. Of course, we had disagreements and arguments but never once did either of us say, “I’ve had it, I’ll look elsewhere, I can do better.” Because, I truly believe those were unthinkable thoughts for us. We knew we were bound together for life. And when I look back at all those years together, I am so thankful for our commitment to each other and all the times we spent together most often filled with laughter and happiness. But, to be honest Kim, those memories also reinforce how much I have lost and how difficult the future appears. But don’t worry my darling, I’ll get by mainly due to the love, support and devotion of our four wonderful sons. In some ways, I feel calling them just my sons doesn’t given them the full credit they deserve, because they are more than that. They are my advisors and counselors who guide me and prevent me from going too far off line, they are my doers, getting things done that might be difficult for me, they support me when I am sad thinking of you and they are my laugh time buddies, boy do we laugh. So, what I am really saying Kim is that they are our sons, but they are also my best friends, and I will get by with them by my side.
Now, my love, I must turn to those last two painful years after we received that horrible diagnosis. Major surgeries, radiation therapy, chemotherapy in three states. Months and months of you being hospitalized, filled with pain and other discomfort from the sarcoma but also from the side effects of chemo, pain often made bearable only by heavy sedation when you really couldn’t communicate with us. But the boys and I agreed that you remained the same person through all that; stubborn, a fighter, never a quitter, never expressing anger or bitterness, never calling out for pity. I remember one of the times I was particularly concerned but didn’t know how to talk to you about it and I asked, “is there anything you want to tell me, anything we should talk about” and you understood what I was asking and turned to me, smiled and said, “don’t worry baby, I’m not giving up,” and you never did until the bitter end. And there were times you felt better, and you would smile and laugh and talk when we saw you and how your eyes would light up and a huge smile spread across your face when you were able to see your two darling granddaughters, Isabel and Emilia Kay, yes Emilia Kay named after you, my Kimberly Kay. During that time, you received unending love and care from our sons. They repaid in spades the love you showered on them as their mother. Completely disrupting their lives, leaving their homes to be with us and near to you. Gong to the hospital day after day and staying late into the night, talking with you, laughing and crying with you, holding you, moving your legs when you no longer could in the hope that a different position might ease the pain. Gently trying to massage the pain away, bathing you, cleaning you, gently kissing you to show their love and to comfort you. Even learning how to dispense fluids intravenously when you were home and how to change and repair your fistula drainage devices so that the nurses simply stood back and watched. It wasn’t just me that saw their love. The hospital staff told me that they had never seen a patient receive the love you did especially from our boys and one of the hospice nurses that cared for you in our home at the end said to Jason, “by watching your family care for your mother, I understand what true love is.” I know you felt that love and I am comforted by that knowledge, and I also believe by that time near the end, the pain and discomfort had become too much even for you, and you found acceptance and I too, must try to find that acceptance.
When there seems to be so much anger and divisiveness in the world, you touched so many people, yes, because you were an excellent doctor, but even more with your humility, your compassion, your focus, your devotion, and the simple but nearly impossible task of always finding the strength to care about someone else regardless of your own problems or concerns, irrespective of their background, the hour of day or night, or any other circumstance. Hopefully, more of us will learn to be guided by those principles.
And so, my darling, as I say goodbye to you, for now, I’m reminded of the statute that stands outside of MD Anderson Cancer Clinic in Houston, where you received chemotherapy. A statute of a woman with her arm raised and looking skyward. The inscription reads:
Be like the bird, who
Halting in her flight
On limb too slight
Feels it give way beneath her,
But yet still sings,
Knowing she has wings.
My darling, my love for ever, my hero, with all my heart and all my soul, I say to you: spread your wings, sing, and fly away to find the comfort, peace, and serenity you so richly deserve.
