In “Seeds of Life,” I reflected on the first time I encountered death—not as a moment of mourning, but as an educational threshold. In the anatomy lab, my donor’s body became a site of learning: layers to be dissected away, structures to be identified, systems to be mastered. Standing before the body, I dreaded the day we would come face-to-face with our donor and dissect his facial structures. Yet when that day arrived, the emotions I anticipated were absent. Without my noticing, a transition had occurred: this encounter with death was no longer about loss, but about participation in an educational ritual. Though this shift felt necessary and even expected, it left behind a quiet unease. In learning to see the body clearly, I wondered if I was learning to stop seeing.
Read moreWhat Remains When the Body Is Taken Apart: A reflection on the educational ritual of anatomy class by Elli Lee
© Seeds of Life by Elli Youngeun Lee. Oil and colored pencil on canvas
“The first time I saw a dead body was in the cadaver lab. Behind fogged glasses, I felt my chest tighten as I faced my willed donor. But soon after, I found myself dissecting layers of skin and rifling through organs with the detachment of studying pages of a textbook. Anatomy lab is a pivotal step in our medical education. In fragmenting the human body as deidentified pieces of knowledge, it guides our hands through the otherwise unseen subjects of disease and reinforces our interconnectedness. In ‘Seeds of Life,’ the flowers honor these physical bodies as vessels of the donors’ time on earth—reminders that, through their gift, our growth and our future patients’ healing take root.”