Dr. Carolyn Susan Aks—a brilliant mind, a passionate soul, and a heart that left everyone she touched just a little more whole.
I first met Dr. Aks when I was a teenager, when my brother and I were supposed to be sitting in a break room while my mother finished her shift. I was curious and chatty—so naturally, I wandered into an office decorated with spaceships and autographs. “Is that Star Trek?” I mumbled aloud, not realizing I wasn’t alone. Then, from behind a tall stack of papers, a voice beamed back: “Oh, yeah! It’s the USS Enterprise.”
That conversation was the first of many. She shared her love for Star Trek and Jimmy Buffett with such joy, walking me through her collection like it was treasure. And to me, it was. That moment shifted something inside me—it made adulthood feel a little less intimidating. If a successful oncologist could still collect toys and speak passionately about sci-fi and music, then maybe growing up wasn’t so bad.
Dr. Aks wasn’t just a friend to me—she was a dear friend to my mother. Their bond ran deeper than work acquaintances. They lit up when speaking to or about each other, always meeting up for lunch, chatting on the phone in the evenings, and even traveling together after Carolyn moved away from Abilene. Their friendship was a rare and beautiful thing, and I’m grateful they had each other.
As the years passed, I didn’t speak to her as often, but she always stayed connected with my mother. I’d occasionally get a photo—two smiling faces off on another adventure. And even if we didn’t talk much, I always felt better knowing she was doing well.
But I do regret not talking to her more. Still, Carolyn was the kind of person who made the time. I remember my 30th birthday clearly—I was feeling down, stuck, and full of self-doubt, comparing myself to where I thought I should be. Out of the blue, she called me. And in just one conversation, she lifted the weight from my shoulders.
She told me she didn’t decide to become a doctor until she was thirty. That changed everything for me. Suddenly, I didn’t feel behind—I felt hopeful. She reminded me that it’s never too late to become who you want to be. Whenever I feel like I’m failing or running out of time, I think of her—and how she believed in me, so I should too.
That was Carolyn’s gift. She saw people—not just who they were, but who they could become. And she made you believe in that possibility.
Thank you, Dr. Aks—for your wisdom, your kindness, your friendship. Thank you for seeing the good in us even when we couldn’t. Thank you for including me in your journey—it was a privilege and an honor.
To your spirit: Live long and prosper.