“Do you want to get new license plates for your new car?” Barb asked me.

Astonished by her question, I told her, “It would be harder for me to change my license plates than it was to retire last year.” I meant it!

Barb and I have had personalized “vanity” license plates since 1984. Barb has been OT MOM for most of those years, only recently updating to OT NANA. For 40 years, I have had PATH DOC.

Neither Barb nor I are unusually vain, but we are proud of our careers. With our personalized license plates, we show off just a bit while we provide PR for our professions, two areas of health care that are not routinely in the public eye.

Because of Barb’s OT plates, people often ask if she is an ‘overtime’ parent who works two or three jobs and then races home to her family. She patiently explains that she has had a wonderful career as an occupational therapist and extols the value of a field diverse enough to provide service to newborn infants, stroke victims, and hand-injury patients, Barb’s specialty. The license plate is a great recruiting tool.

It’s rare that anyone sees my car and recognizes me as a pathologist. People ask me if I repair sidewalks or work on trails at the forest preserves. That allows me to clarify what a pathologist is, what we do, and how important we are to patients in hospitals, clinics, and doctor’s offices. I fill them in on blood tests, biopsies, and more. I probably haven’t convinced anyone to join my field, but I hope I have gotten many people to respect it.

Our residences, vehicles, and family size have changed multiple times over the last 40 years. MOM has become a NANA (four times over). Barb and I are both happily retired. But Barb should know that asking me to change my license plate is like asking me to forsake the White Sox. Like the Sox, those plates are in my DNA. They will never be replaced.

The solitary red rose in our front yard is the last flower remaining. Spring, summer, and fall were filled with riots of color, the scent of magnolia, and the air of hope and promise.

Barb has tended the yard with care and devotion, always envisioning what more can be done, what needs pruning, and what needs replanting. The gardens are living things, changing with the seasons. They are a technicolor kaleidoscope of ever-evolving beauty.

The unusually warm October kept the magnificent landscape in bloom far longer than we hoped. But October has ended, the Halloween dress-ups are gone, and November has come with a chill wind that has destroyed color, beauty, and hope. One lonely rose remains.

But if we can survive the coming winter, there will be a new spring next year, a chance for a new beginning. Barb will work hard on her garden. It may take a while, but I have faith—and I hope you do too—that joy, resilience, and wonder have not left us for good.