For as long as I can remember I’ve had this good friend. Like many friendships it has brought indescribable beauty and unfathomable pain.
My friend always shows up, but I do not always know why – until I do. Never knocks or calls. I have never invited them because it is not up to me if or when they arrive.
Everyone who reads these words knows my old friend and all of us will eventually meet and know her intimately and without restraint.
She is beautiful and raw and real. She cannot be avoided. Sometimes she’s a hurricane. Sometimes she’s a gentle desired rain.
I don’t always understand her, but I am not meant to, and she does not require an explanation. She just is.
As sacred as life itself, is “my old friend Death”.
I have tried to stop her as a nurse, a daughter, a stranger, a friend and a human. I have never been successful.
Once she shows up, she never leaves alone. I have misinterpreted the who when my human tried to deny her but never the why she arrives. Regardless of circumstance it is an honor to be in her presence – even when it's hard.
Death truly deserves as much dignity and respect as birth. She carries just as much love with her that life does.
As a nurse I am very familiar with her. She does not bring fear with her.
I have also met her as a loved one – the fear present in those situations is my own. Not hers.
I have thought about asking her not to make herself known to me when she comes for those that are closest to me but a part of me worries that if I do, I won’t see her standing there – always in the same spot – always just a gentle essence – to the right foot end or in front of my patients.
It would save me a hell of a lot of pain in my personal life not knowing… but as a nurse, although I cannot stop her, knowing she is there at times allows me to try my best to make the transition as gentle as I can for those who are in my care and the loved ones connected to them.
Read this twice…. I do not at any point in time announce that she has arrived. That is also not my job. There is a big difference and a fine line between instilling fear and holding a space of love.
Once she leaves – I can pronounce (under certain regs within my scoop of practice) – but I do not announce her presence for any reason to anyone directly affected or involved at any time including the patient.
She came to visit last week.
My human got in the way and even though I knew I didn’t want to know.
She did not take the patient I thought she was here for.
She embraced my sweetest boy. She allowed me to be there with him for the moment she took him home. Although it hurts, I still wouldn’t trade the love in for the pain. Being there for my sweetest boy during his transition will always be one of the most beautiful privileges I will ever have.
Yes, HOPE was there too if you're reading this.
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