When I look to you, I have to wait for the photons to bounce off of your face.
An exceedingly small fraction make their way toward my pupil, at the speed of light.
But the nanosecond delay lasts forever.
My eyes tumble you over and turn you into electrochemical signals,
which have to travel all the way to the back of my brain, at a sluggish 200 miles per hour.
My visual cortex translates the colors and lines and shadows back into you.
Sets you back on your feet.
I don’t wait for my face cells to recognize you, for I already know you,
And I am too eager to see you, or at least see who you were.
But I know you.
I see you when I close my eyes.
And in the dark.
And when you are miles away.
I can see you with my mind’s eye, my heart, and my soul
I see you before, and after, and always.
No limitations of physics or biology can keep you from me.
Now and forever.
This lovely poem was written by my older brother, Steve. At the age of 4, Steve decided he was going to be a doctor. Flash forward a few decades and Stevie (old habits die hard) is not only a pediatrician but also a brilliant scientist whose findings are set to change the face of treatment for childhood leukemia. I couldn't be prouder of my big brother who can now add poet to his impressive list of attributes.