Contributed by Ainsley Alexander

I have a lot of memories of Nate, whether it was him helping me understand some frustrating respirology slide during a small group learning session, or debating whether the Packers were going to win the Super Bowl, but two things specifically stick out.

The first involves running. We’d meet up at 7am pretty regularly during the week and put in about 5km. We’d use that time to talk about the plans we had, give each other advice, share stupid jokes. For a long time, I used to think we were at about the same level; it wasn’t until we both entered a 10km race–and he outpaced me by an embarrassing amount–that I really recognized that during our early morning sessions, he wasn’t giving it his all…he was slowing down so that I could keep up and we could hang out.

The second memory is that of a call he gave me after he was diagnosed. I was in Calgary at the time, and after a few minutes of catching up, he told me he was sick. I immediately burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. And then there was Nate, calm as ever, asking me if I was ok, telling me that everything would be alright. Dealing with devastating news, it was Nate comforting me.

To my mind, these two stories are classic Nate–he always thought of others before himself. That is of course a testament not only to him, but also to his parents, his sister, and Kristy.

Of the many ways Nate will be remembered–and he will undoubtedly live on in the hearts and minds of the people he has positively impacted as a physician, friend, and family member–the way I would describe him is that at his core, he was a good man. We are all better off for having known him.

Love you Nate.