Nurse Blues

No one was there to hold his hand or wipe his brow or sing songs to him. I have a thing about people dying alone, especially in a building full of people. If the family can’t or won’t, I try avail myself as a proxy. Despite being in the middle of a pandemic when distance is a declaration and closeness is cautioned, no one should die alone.

I was leaving for the day and I was sure that this day wasn’t his last. But before I walked out, the monitors rang out. I see sad faces congregating around his door. It was imminent. And there was nothing we could do about it. I had to go back.

He was encased behind glass. The ventilator inhaled and exhaled for him. The monitor showed a heart rate that was slowing to a non-viable pace. His face serene, his chest rose and retracted, the rest of his body otherwise still. I’d seen death many times, but it’s not something I want to fashion in my mind as common.

The many years, triumphs, mistakes, love, failures, and accomplishments all come to an end. Right here.

My heart ached for him. And although he couldn’t hear me, I pressed my hands to the glass door, told him I was here and said goodbye.

And in a blink of a lifetime, in the absence of anyone known, in the presence of God, he slipped into eternity.

Rest in peace Mr. W.

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