I Held Her Hand and Cried (Story)

I remember my shift was coming to a close.  But I wasn't ready to leave yet.  The elderly woman in room 418 needed someone, and I wanted to be that person.  She was a terminal patient, and we knew her time was drawing close.

Throughout my shift, I checked on her often, making sure she was as comfortable as she could be.  She spoke in hushed whispers, always with the most calming voice.  I look back and I truly believe there wasn't a mean bone in this lady's body, and thought to myself, when I should reach my time, I hope I can be just like she is.  She had no family, at least none that was close by or cared enough to stop in for a visit.  I knew she was alone.

Over the months, we had sat and talked about anything and everything.  The wealth of knowledge this woman possessed was amazing.  She could discuss any topic and never back down about her values.  I truly admired her.

About an hour before my shift ended that night, I was making final rounds, and she called me to her bedside.  Taking my hand, she drew me closer to her and whispered in my ear, "Dena, I know my time has come.  Can you please contact Father for me?"  And so I did, without hesitation.  

Within what seemed like minutes, the priest buzzed the front door for entry.  While he read her last rites, I stood in the corner of the room, offering my own prayers in silence.  He leaned down, kissing her forehead, then exited the room.  I followed, escorting him out of the building, no words were spoken.  None were needed.

I had returned to the nurses station to make note of his visit when my supervisor asked why I was still here.  I told her that I wasn't leaving, not yet.  She had a look of disgust, knowing that we would get in trouble for the overtime hours.  I assured her I had already clocked out, that I was now here on my own time.  She saw the chart of the patient I was making notes in, and gently nodded her approval.  I knew it was ok.

I returned to the patient's room, pulled up a chair and sat next to her.  Her voice was weaker than usual, and her breathing very shallow.  I knew it wouldn't be long.  Part of me felt bad for this woman.  Yet a part of me silently begged for her to go quicker.  I could not only see, but feel her suffering, and it hurt.

I took her hand in mine, and spoke to her softly.  I said anything I could just so she would know she was not alone.  I know she knew, the small but weak smile told me everything I had needed to know.  She knew it was here, and she knew she was cared for.  And with this, I knew she was at peace.

Mere minutes, that seemed to last an eternity had passed.  And as she took her final breath, I held her hand and cried.  I had cried for her loneliness.  I had cried for her pain and suffering.  I had cried for all the people she wouldn't reach out to anymore.  But most of all, I cried because she had truly touched my heart.  This woman made me understand why I had become a nurse in the first place.  Not for money, not for status, but for the love of humanity and helping others around me.  Those unable to completely care for themselves at one time or another.  And through my tears, I smiled.  She had given me renewed hope for my visions of being a nurse.  And for this, I was thankful.

She was the first patient I ever lost.  Many have come since then, and each one I have sat with to the best of my ability.  And for each one that knew their time was here, I sat there, held their hand, and cried.