life and death

i'm so glad i didn't have to go to work today. i don't think i could have done it. my heart broke a little more yesterday (i say "more" because it breaks at work frequently)... and i needed today to nurture my soul. aside from a dentist appointment at 8 o'clock (i HATE the dentist, especially at 8 o'clock), i've been really good to myself. coffee in my glass mug while surfing the internet and eating a croissant from my favorite bakery - bakery nouveau. some organizing in my kitchen. taking out the garbage, recycling, and compost (while these chores are not fun, they do leave my space smelling and looking better). i think i might go rock climbing this afternoon to sweat out some of my demons (or ya yas as my friend cassie would say). and tonight, i have a massage at 7:30. i'm hoping to relax, to get to that dream la-la-land state, and let the tension in my muscles and brain leave my body.

yesterday, i stood in the room of my 31 year old patient, with her mom, stepdad, sister, and friends. there were four nurses, one social worker, and a priest. and we watched, as a respiratory therapist disconnected a sweet, spunky soul from the ventilator. sometimes the human body has an incredible reserve. and sometimes, it is only medicine keeping a body alive. abigail took her last assisted breath as tears filled the room. the monitor screeched. her ekg flat-lined. what moments before looked like a pink, glowing soul, turned mottled, blue, and waxy right before my eyes. (cole and i spoke about life last night. when is it that the soul leaves the body? does it leave right away? or does it linger, trying to figure out where to go next and what just happened). i'd like to think that a little bit of abby's soul seeped into each of us in that room. that each of is better, stronger, and braver because we knew her and because we were there, holding her hands and touching her body during her final moments.

i was right, a few weeks ago, when i helped my patient escape from the hospital to feel normal, just for a few hours. it would be her last hours outside. the last time sunlight kissed her face. the last time oxygen made from trees would fill her lungs.

i feel honored to have been a part of both of those days - both abby's living and her dying. her life. and her death.

may her soul live on.