"Paul Farmer believed all lives have dignity," read a headline in the Opinion Column of The Washington Post as I was scrolling through the news back from work. Why would it say "believed" was the first thought that crossed my mind. It did not occur to me that Paul Farmer is mortal. And that mortality is ruthless in its choice of victims and timing. Alas, Dr. Farmer was the casualty. He passed away today in his sleep, at age 62.
Sorrow seeped in, almost a sense of helplessness, when it was clear that Dr. Farmer is no more. I first learned of him through Tracy Kidder's book "Mountain Beyond Mountains." As a young resident learning the trades of patient care, reading about Dr. Farmer's work was an entirely different revelation. It was as if it stretched my awareness of human capabilities in the realm of kindness and empathy. It was a profound presence, knowledge that there is a living, walking fellow human being doing extraordinary deeds born of purest concerns. Privileged to read several of his books and writings subsequently, I felt nurtured by his thoughts and voices. The word "solidarity" reverberates a totally distinct significance to me just because of his use of the word. My comprehension of the relationship and moral claim to the material resources of collective human existence, particularly for the most disadvantaged amongst us has been monumentally altered by his insights. He sought and brought the most advanced care to the most depraved when the default expectation was "impossible." He saw disease in broader context, with its social roots. And not just made the observations but sought and brought the solutions even to those tentacles of diseases. Seeing his work from distance educed tracings of longer trajectories of human goodness. You could hear in his voices and deeds the vestiges of greats of remote past, Rudolph Virchow, in my mind drawing a straight line.
He will belong to one of those giants of history, I suspect. And he will live through works of generations to come. Yet, I can not deflect a gnawing sense of loss. Of a human being in flesh and bones who may have yet another novel insight, yet another demonstration of what is best in humans. Perhaps this feeling is accentuated because of the times we are living in. When we appear to be shriveling in our benevolent form as human being. Authoritarians seem to be on the rise everywhere. And wars seem to be looming. Those with convictions about goodness seem to be meager. And everyday folks seem to have lost a sense of boundary between kindness and cruelty.
While you belong to the long arc of the history, enouncing your presence in moments of kindness by countless lives you have touched, including my own better moments, Dear Dr. Farmer, a kind and tender soul, I will miss you tremendously. Thank you for the life you spent among us in mortal form.
