Why Nurses Cry At Night
"It's okay" I cooed
in the dimly lit room
"You are here and that's what matters" I offered
as I swallowed the doom
"Mom is gone" I announced
if announce is the word
It was a whisper. But it was final.
I don't think they even heard...
"It's a boy!" the doctor claimed
and he held the baby up like a prize
The mom cried and so did I
because miracles still dampen my eyes
Between the first day and the last day
of each of our patients' lives
Is a Thursday and a Monday
and days our lives will intertwine
Some days we are helping you
and comforting or mending or teaching
Other days we are sweating and saving
and praying, begging, and reaching
We don't control it, this fine line
between your first day and your last
But we often witness it, we hold space for it
and we get etched in each others' paths
Do I ignore it? Forget it? Pretend I didn't see it...
or feel it or hear it or bow down and plead it?
I don't think so, I just can't so, I let the tears fall when I can
and we get up, lace our shoes up, and act undefeated
It's an honor, a privilege, a duty dear friends
but it's hard and it's long and some days barely end
And no one asks us how we're doing, because we do the healing
But I'm a mama, and a daughter, and a person with feelings.
So at night, in the dark, when the beeps and alarms are gone
Maybe next to our loved ones or maybe quiet and alone
We cry and we replay and we wish and we sorrow
As we heal our own boo-boos and do it all again tomorrow
We don't forget.
We saw it. We felt it.
You were seen.
And you were here.
And we were with you.
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