"Hi, Ray Charles!"

Charles wasn't really his last name, but Ray was really his first name and he had been a patient in this practice for 25 years. I only knew him for the last two. Ray suffered from schizoid disorder. He lived in a group home. A social worker brought him to our office every six weeks to monitor his delicate health issues. One thing I noticed was that when Ray came in, the staff got excited. They treated him like he was a member of their own family. They took care of him with so much tender loving care that I couldn't help loving him too, even though he was quiet and not particularly communicative, and he didn't really know me. Ray was tall, refined, and always wore his gold chains. He walked with a cane.

One day, Ray called and I answered the phone. The deep, monotone voice said, "This is Ray." And, I, in an impetuous moment responded enthusiastically, "Hi, Ray Charles!" And Ray cracked up laughing.

And then I did it every time he called and every time he came in and it always broke through his depression, even for a few seconds.

On Monday, Louise the social worker brought Ray to the office. He was AMA from the hospital (Against Medical Advise) for a GI bleed and only wanted to come to our clinic. I walked into the exam room and saw him sitting there waiting solummly, and exclaimed, "Hi Ray Charles!" He and Louise both cracked up laughing.

Yesterday, Louise called and said that Ray had been readmitted to the hospital. He'd had a very successful GI surgery. But something had gone wrong. She was still trying to find out.

And Ray had passed away.

I hung up the phone, sank into my chair, and wept. I informed the staff.

"Goodbye, Ray Charles." I thought.

"Thank you for all those times you made me smile. You never knew how much they meant to me."