Regrets
The night air of late summer is cool. The grasses still damp from yesterday's all day rain, and todays overcast dampness. The weather fits my melancholy mood...
Someone I know has died unexpectantly. I did not know her well. I had never been to her home, or met her family. Like most of the people I work with, we shared our eight hours together on many different days, and then parted ways, always wishing each other a good evening or weekend... Yet, the loss has struck a chord in me that is deep and sad and long.
In our line of work, humor always comes in handy. Humor and empathy. And me and Tori shared both. We laughed together even when the days were long, busy, and exhausting. We empathized with each other about work loads, mean nurses, and difficult patients. Throughout her pregnancy, I was always sure to ask how she was feeling, and sympathize with her endless days of nausea, swollen feet, and back aches. I touched her belly, and felt her baby move. She teased me one day when I accidently gave her a static shock, telling me her baby was gonna come out looking like Powder, the character from a movie. Being that she was a black woman, the idea of a powder white baby was hilarious at the time, and I howled with laughter from the unexpected line. We had, on the unit, a singing toy rabbit, round about Easter time. That rabbit drove her mad with it's repeated song. I used to wait until she left to use the bathroom, and put it in her chair. She was so mad at me!!!
I wanted to be her friend. I was her friend. She was mine. But I mean to say, we got along so well at work, I always meant to do somehing more. I missed her baby shower because I went out of town. We never got around to doing anything else. She was busy with a family, seven-year-old daughter, husband, and 2 step children every-other weekend. I was busy just living my life. Going to the chiroprator, visting friends and family.
And now she is gone. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Pulmonary Embolism five days after having a new baby girl. Leaving behind her family, her frineds, and the rest of us. All shaking our heads, and shedding our tears, and wishing somehow we had taken the time to say the things you say when you know someone is going to be gone. To do the things we meant to do. To grieve.
Someone I know has died unexpectantly. I did not know her well. I had never been to her home, or met her family. Like most of the people I work with, we shared our eight hours together on many different days, and then parted ways, always wishing each other a good evening or weekend... Yet, the loss has struck a chord in me that is deep and sad and long.
In our line of work, humor always comes in handy. Humor and empathy. And me and Tori shared both. We laughed together even when the days were long, busy, and exhausting. We empathized with each other about work loads, mean nurses, and difficult patients. Throughout her pregnancy, I was always sure to ask how she was feeling, and sympathize with her endless days of nausea, swollen feet, and back aches. I touched her belly, and felt her baby move. She teased me one day when I accidently gave her a static shock, telling me her baby was gonna come out looking like Powder, the character from a movie. Being that she was a black woman, the idea of a powder white baby was hilarious at the time, and I howled with laughter from the unexpected line. We had, on the unit, a singing toy rabbit, round about Easter time. That rabbit drove her mad with it's repeated song. I used to wait until she left to use the bathroom, and put it in her chair. She was so mad at me!!!
I wanted to be her friend. I was her friend. She was mine. But I mean to say, we got along so well at work, I always meant to do somehing more. I missed her baby shower because I went out of town. We never got around to doing anything else. She was busy with a family, seven-year-old daughter, husband, and 2 step children every-other weekend. I was busy just living my life. Going to the chiroprator, visting friends and family.
And now she is gone. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Pulmonary Embolism five days after having a new baby girl. Leaving behind her family, her frineds, and the rest of us. All shaking our heads, and shedding our tears, and wishing somehow we had taken the time to say the things you say when you know someone is going to be gone. To do the things we meant to do. To grieve.