Dear Sir,

If you would indulge me a moment that I may be able to offer a few words of gratitude to the many who have supported, and continue to support, me in perhaps the most testing and difficult time of my life.

And while it can be a danger to specify individuals and organisations, for inevitably I will leave some out, this I will attempt, for I believe it necessary in that I have been so moved by the outpouring of love from a nation that a loud minority would have us believe has lost the inherent manner of hospitality and charity upon which its reputation has been founded.

My name is Patrick Bean and many in Bermuda will have read or heard about my story of woeful — better yet, wanton — self-destruction regarding lifestyle choices to the point where my body has gone on “strike”, demanding both a new lifestyle and new parts if it is to resume normal function.

For those unfamiliar, I have contracted a form of leukaemia for which doctors tell me the road to wellness starts with me receiving a bone-marrow transplant.

While obstacles remain, many major hurdles have been removed and it is the “village” that is Bermuda to which I owe much. A village that I have come to understand, to my delight, extends beyond the pristine landscape of our island home to the theatre among which I now occupy in Burlington, Massachusetts, as a patient of the Lahey Clinic.

The camaraderie being experienced as I prepare to undergo the necessary procedure for my physical, mental and spiritual restoration cannot be quantified and so I cannot offer nearly enough thanks, except to offer the following message from man no greater than I, but much more wise.

His name was Matthew and he said of such hospitality:

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.” — Matthew 25:35-36

To my immediate family who have fed, clothed and secured me, even as I have stolen from them; to the doctors and nurses at home and abroad who have given great care to ease my physical pain and deficiencies; to the LCCA, PALS and the Bermuda Government for assisting in funding this restoration project; to the social workers at home and abroad who continue to aid in the co-ordination of logistical matters; to the Bermudians in Burlington who have welcomed me into their clutches and who have offered words of hope and have serviced my housing; to the staff of Sonesta ES Suites who have serviced my accommodation and transport needs; to the officers of United States Homeland Security for permitting me into their country that I may receive the requisite care; to those writing e-mails and comments of encouragement; to the critics and naysayers that remind me of the world to which I desire never to return; to the editor and staff of The Royal Gazette for allowing my story to be told that others may be spared the ordeal of similar hardship; to my pastor and church family for their fervent prayers for healing; to my best friend for remaining close, even as I abandoned her; to the Somerset folks, who continue to comfort my family in a trying time.

Indeed, even for this would-be isolationist, as I have tried to be, there has been no escaping the love a country has for a native son ... even one who has wilfully gone astray.

As a result today, even now, I cry — and the tears are not with regard to my illness and associated prospect of death.

No, for I have rarely felt better than I do at this moment. I am overcome by the joy of a harmonic relationship with a people truly made in the image and likeness of a loving God.

PATRICK M. BEAN SR