Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you to Deborah for opening this space to me.

Thank you for laying bare your unending grace, your heroic advocacy, and your pure

devotion. I am grateful and a better person to have witnessed it.

My name is Khurram, and I am a chaplain at City of Hope National Cancer Center. I

got to know the Professor for only the last several months of her time on Earth.

I called her Professor through every encounter. She never asked me to call her

anything different because I’d like to think it reinforced and affirmed a small part of

who she was outside the hospital. Please bear with me as I continue.

The Professor engaged very thoughtfully with the Buddhist Plum Village tradition

and its saintly founder Master Thich Nhat Hanh, whose words I will share on

occasion in this Reflection.

The Professor left me with more stories than I need for this event but not as many as

I wish I had to carry with me for wherever my journey takes me. Here are three.

The very first time I encountered the Professor she shared with me her worry and

anxiousness around an inability to cry. Over the ensuing months, I would come to

understand and navigate how much the disease had impacted the Professor’s affect.

One of the frustrations clinicians shared was figuring out how engaged and
cognitively sharp the Professor was at any given time. And if you know how sharp

she could be, you might have a glimpse into imagining how much that might have

frustrated her. In fact, it wasn’t unusual that the Professor would demonstrate

subtlety and sarcasm that would confuse us as to how alert and aware she was.

By most accounts, the Professor was warm, generous, and - outside of the hospital -

an easy grader.

I don’t know if the Professor ever overcame being unable to cry. Or, if she cried at all

to be honest. I wonder what it would mean to her to know how many tears have

been shed in her honor and memory since that conversation.

Master Hanh writes: Breathing in and out, I am aware of the fact that I am of the

nature to die; I cannot escape dying. I am of the nature to grow old; I cannot escape

old age. I am of the nature to get sick. Because I have a body, I cannot avoid sickness.

Everything I cherish, treasure, and cling to today, I will have to abandon one day. The

only thing I can carry with me is the fruit of my own action. I cannot bring along with

me anything else except the fruit of my actions in terms of thought, speech, and

bodily acts. End quote.

Another anecdote I will reflect on was when an odd discussion emerged among the

ICU staff: nurses, therapists, physicians, social workers, and chaplains were debating
whether there was a feminine equivalent to the compliment men receive as

“charming”. I don’t know how this became a topic that engrossed so many and

elicited such strong opinions for a few hours, but I swear this is absolutely true.

Some suggested the closest you could get was something like maybe alluring?

Perhaps captivating? But these traditionally feminine descriptors seemed to connote

a sexual tone the original word did not. “Shoot! Let’s ask the Professor.” I brought

this dilemma to her and she flatly said, “Don’t be misogynistic — the word you’re

looking for is ‘charming’”.

Master Hanh writes: “It is only because of our misunderstanding that we think the

person we love no longer exists after they ‘pass away.’ This is because we are

attached to one of the forms, one of the many manifestations of that person. When

that form is gone, we suffer and feel sad. The person we love is still there. They are

around us, within us, and smiling at us. In our delusion we cannot recognize them,

and we say: ‘they no longer are.’ We ask over and over, ‘Where are you? Why did

you leave me all alone?’ Our pain is great because of our misunderstanding. But

the cloud is not lost. Our beloved is not lost. The cloud is manifesting in a different

form. Our beloved is manifesting in a different form. If we can understand this, then

we will suffer much less.” End quote.

The third anecdote comes towards the very end of her final City of Hope

hospitalization. Perhaps not surprising to those present here, she wasn’t particularly
fond of the food at the hospital. On this day, when the Professor had been cleared by

the medical team to enjoy an unrestricted diet, a nurse shared with me that the

Professor was craving coffee and a donut.

I consulted with the Professor’s nurse, her Social Worker Nicole, and I decided to

risk what had been a relationship with Deborah that had until then been marked by

courtesy, collaboration, and respect. I ran to the Starbucks on campus grounds and

brought back a donut. I sheepishly asked Deborah to step out of the room and

shared with her my misdeed. I did so acknowledging the complexity and the

entanglements in that moment. Deborah had a sizable weight to consider: the

Professor’s long term goals and her immediate gratification under difficult

circumstances. Feeling like a bad cop for denying the Professor that donut in the

moment and also potentially contributing to a moment that might plague her with

regret long afterwards.

Deborah said: “OK, a piece.” I handed her a plastic knife and she cut the smallest

fraction of a donut. When it was presented to the Professor… Hey, Professor, we

have a treat for you! The big reveal was initially underwhelming. The Professor

couldn’t recognize what she was looking at as a donut. And so we said: “It’s a donut!”

The surprise on her face was palpable. She looked into the depths of my soul —

stared right through me — and plainly, and directly, said, “I love you”.
And she meant it. With all the sincerity anyone can ever say those words, she looked

at me with everything she could muster, and convinced me of its truth in an instance.

And I love her.

Master Hanh writes: “When you visualize yourself and your beloved in three

hundred years’ time, you just feel so happy that you are alive today and that your

dearest is alive today. You open your eyes and all your anger has gone.” End quote.

The Professor was never far from accessing the sacred herself. I would often ask her

after a tough or emotional encounter: and what would the Buddha say if he was here

in the room with us right now? And the Professor never shied away being brutally

honest in how she understood what the tradition demanded of her.

I ask you to join me in observing a moment of silence. Do what you must to embrace

and embody the sacred here and now. Clasp your hands, and bow your heads,

whatever… but do so accepting that your intention has the power to sacralize this

perfectly realized place in the universe.

….

Thank you.