A different kind of loss: A tribute to Dr Clyde Hertzman (1953–2013)

Abstract

Every now and then we experience a loss in our professional and work circles that somehow seems tougher and deeper than others, and so untimely it takes our breath away. And somehow the rituals of mourning that help us through the losses in our personal and family lives are not available to us in our work worlds. Much is being written about Dr Clyde Hertzman, our remarkable friend and colleague who died suddenly in February in the United Kingdom at the age of 59. Clyde’s current position was Director of the Human Early Learning Partnership (HELP) at the University of British Columbia (Vancouver, British Columbia). The reach of his work and ideas extended beyond academia to the grassroots of national and international audiences. There are multiple postings in online discussion boards, in local and national newspapers and in medical journals. ‘Google’ his name and pages of tribute entries return. Reflections have come from politicians, journalists, university and medical school deans and professors, leaders of professional organizations, advocacy groups and nongovernmental organizations – pretty well all the players, institutions and organizations in Canada, and beyond, who care about young children and who have shared Clyde’s journey and work on the human development agenda. So too has the Canadian Paediatric Society (CPS) posted its words of respect and tribute for the contributions Clyde has made internationally, nationally and locally. Most recently, he worked with our CPS Early Years Task Force to help develop our strategy, infusing his brilliance and enthusiasm for opportunities to make a better world for Canada’s children. He liberally shared his ideas, his contacts and his wisdom to help us craft the next steps in this long journey. He collaborated with the CPS Early Years Task Force just a week before his death and spent a morning in early December with us at HELP, where we brainstormed the options, the strategies and the direction. He had recently learned of, and shared in confidence, his Order of Canada appointment and, apart from being delighted at the recognition, was contemplating how to use this new platform to shine a brighter light on early child development. In November 2010, he was named CIHR’s Health Researcher of the Year, and he delivered a phenomenal lecture at Ottawa’s National Gallery. It was one of those magical nights with a bitter cold wind pounding at the windows, snow falling and an erudite crowd in attendance, including the Governor General and Clyde’s partner Marcy Cohen. Clyde was at the top of his game. His broad-reaching and convincing dissertation emphasized that the early years do matter and are a determinant of lifelong health and well-being. He brought the understanding of cellular biology to the story of a successful society, and created a buzz and excitement around his passion for measurement. Dr Clyde Hertzman Clyde introduced us to many new concepts, including biological embedding, emphasizing how the environmental experiences of early childhood in families and communities become hardwired into the brain. “Early in life, the environment talks to genes and the genes listen,” he wrote (1). Similarly, any of us who were lucky enough to experience Clyde through his teaching, his writings or his lectures have had our neuronal connections biologically and indelibly altered. His humility coupled with his vibrant curiosity made him very special to work with. Clyde has, in a most wonderful way, ‘gotten under our skin’. So the loss of Clyde feels like a tsunami for those of us working on the human development agenda – it’s a hole in our universe. And it will continue to manifest itself in the absence of his voice in the multiple conversations we shared, the silence from the podium and the empty chair at the panel table. The loss of his intellectual horsepower, his different, creative way of looking at and measuring the world, and his ability to take complexity and transform these complex ideas into brain butterscotch is immeasurable. We know that his impact will be felt by generations of children around the world forever. So this is the ‘now and then’ in our professional careers when, like William Wordsworth in Surprised by Joy, we instinctively turn at a moment of early childhood success to look for Clyde – for his leadership, wisdom and enthusiasm, then we realize he is no longer with us. We will repair, we will rebuild and refocus, but we will remember this different kind of loss.