I write to you not just as a daughter, but as the keeper of one of my father's last wishes. My father, known to everyone, from family to the hospital staff, was a decorated veteran who fought his battles with the same courage in the hospital as he did in uniform. He passed away a few months ago, and in the quiet work of sorting through his belongings, I came across something that stopped me in my tracks: A DAISY Award nomination he had written for a nurse named Rekha Nair.

My father had been admitted to the Surgical ICU several times, and by grace or luck, Rekha was often his nurse. In his own words, she was not just a caregiver but a comrade, someone who stood watch over him with the loyalty and devotion of a trusted battle buddy. Reading his nomination, I could feel his gratitude pouring through every sentence. It was clear that Rekha’s compassion, skill, and unwavering presence brought him comfort in one of the hardest chapters of his life.

I know the submission comes months after his passing, and later than the usual timeline. But to me, honoring Rekha now is more than just an award; it is a way to carry out a mission my father never got to complete. Recognizing her would be like delivering his final salute. Attached is the nomination letter in his own words. I hope you will consider it, not only for what it says about Rekha's extraordinary care, but for what it meant to a man who had lived a life of service, and in his final days, found that same spirit reflected to him:

"During my repeated deployments to the ICU as a cancer patient, I found myself in hostile territory, anxious, scared, and vulnerable. The day I could no longer speak because of a tracheotomy felt like losing my primary weapon. I couldn't call for help, couldn't voice my needs. That's when Rekha Nair stepped in, calm, steady, mission-ready. She learned to read my lips like a radio operator turning into a weak signal, picked up on my facial expressions and body language like a seasoned squad leader reading the field, and even handed me a boogie board, my new device.

She wasn't just doing her job; she was going above and beyond, running point to make sure I was never left behind. She reminded me of my brothers and sisters in arms who live by the creed: Never leave a man behind. Every night, I prayed she'd be on duty the next day, and when I woke to see her name written on my board, my morale went through the roof. I probably asked too often if she'd be back tomorrow. But truth be told, her presence was the difference between a hard day and one I could push through.

Everyone who cared for me was skilled and kind, but Rekha was different; she was like an angel who dropped into my unit, disguised as a nurse. She made me feel like I was her sole mission objective, always locked in on my needs and quick to respond to any distressed signal. Rekha invested hours in training my family and me for self-sufficiency with my cancer-ridden wound, tracheotomy, and feeding tube, just like a senior NCO making sure a soldier can handle their gear before heading back into the field.

She walked me through cleaning techniques, monitored my first attempts, and didn’t pull back until she knew I was squared away. What set her apart wasn't just skill; it was heart. She fought for my comfort as if she were guarding a fellow soldier. One morning when the pain hit like incoming fire, she stayed on station, adjusting my meds, shifting my position, and refusing to stand down until I found relief. Her presence alone was a shield against fear. She looked after my family like they were her own, answering their questions, explaining every move, and even bringing extra warm blankets and pillows for those long nights they bivouacked at my side.

I had a day off, my dying wasn't a secret, but after much resistance from me and depression, she wrapped me up in blankets and marched me out to the picnic area near the hospital porch for what she called "sunshine therapy." I didn’t realize how much I needed it until the cold but warm sun hit my face and body; it was the kind of morale boost only someone truly in tune with their patient could deliver. Even as I knew my mission here was nearing its end, she gave me the gift of hope and the feeling that I still had time left on the clock. She never let my humanity get lost in chaos, always showing respect and safeguarding my dignity.

Her commitment didn’t go unnoticed; her Platoon Leader visited me daily, and each time I told her the same thing: Rekha isn't just a nurse, she's an angel and a war buddy sent to see me through to the end. The care she gave was more than medical; it was spiritual. I count myself lucky beyond words to have had her in my foxhole. Rekha embodies the very spirit of the DAISY Award, and I will carry her exceptional care with me for the rest of my days."