I still can’t believe you are gone. I find it hard to accept and I only know you as Dr George so I cannot imagine how it feels for the family you left behind. I met you in October 2007 on a recommendation from a friend. The relationship grew to being more than a patient/doctor relationship to one of a daughter and father. I found my home in your office. You enabled me to navigate motherhood because of your constant calm assurances. I am sill crying as I type this because this is really hard. You never called me Seyi, you always called me Oluwaseyi. Our conversations became focused on overcoming my fears to knowing I could do it. You delivered my 2 children and I always trusted your advice. It took Tamilore Dr George, the one you delivered almost 12 years ago, to talk to me to rise up because God has you now. My whole family knew you, my Mum says your Daddy Doctor, My Dad acknowledges you were like a Dad. You always encouraged, never chastised. I can’t ever forget, when Tamilore (your child with the long hair as you called him) was so ill, I was scared we would lose him and you had been away. When you returned, you told everyone to leave the room in the ward and said “Oluwaseyi, as a Dr, I can tell you we have done everything to support his immunity and fight this infection, but as a father, and as a Christian, there is a place for you as his mother, when you get on your knees, lay your hands on him and ask the Lord for mercy because He gives gifts and this is one of them”. Oh I prayed so hard that day and felt an indescribable peace. You reminded me of what it is to have faith. Dr George, Tamilore is almost a teenager now, his sister Anjola, who as you predicted is tough is also quite grown, and your promise to be at their graduation ceremonies won’t happen but they are thriving. We had a fantastic caregiver with impeccable bedside manners. Someone who immediately allayed my fears and anxieties just by speaking to me. Your stories of your experiences, praising your wife for her strength, the pride in your children and your passion for caregiving all lived in those short moments I always saw you. You called when you could, asking if I was taking care of myself and taking care of Akin and the constant chastisement to eat properly and not live off biscuits. Another conversation was on moving the hospital to the island and your words were, it is not about money, what alternative do they have here? I am here to serve a purpose and Oluwaseyi, if they need me they will cross the bridge, and come here. My last conversation was on scheduling an appointment for my mum and I said old people are stubborn and your response yes we are. We agreed to see after the lockdown not knowing that would be the last time I would speak with you. I asked why you spent so much time with every patient, and you said, A Doctor should focus on the psychology to understand what is unsaid to ensure you make the proper diagnosis. Conversations around faith, politics, marriage, no topic was off limits and your final words at the end of every conversation were “I know you are a good girl (my response – I am a woman) Yes I know but you were a tiny girl when you first came to me so as I was saying, se omo jeje. As heartbroken as I am now, I won’t forget you Dr George, you left a lasting legacy, rare, limited edition as Akin said, more than a Dr to me, generous in spirit and I am comforted (though still cry) that God has you now and we will meet at Jesus feet. I pray that God comforts your family more than anyone can. Oluwaseyi