A Long Time Ago

Today was her last shift.

I remember meeting her there years ago and enjoying getting to know a new friend - one that would, unbeknown to both of us, last a lifetime.

We both learned to give of ourselves and to see the world's deep needs in the faces of the people who strayed in and out of the doors. Some present only for a few hours. Some there long before, and after, both of us. Some who would never again step out of the place.

We worked side-by-side and commiserated and argued and laughed and loved each other and the world around us.

She stuck around long after I couldn't. She put in sixteen years.

And she cried for the last month there.

Mostly the last two weeks.

A lot today.

She should cry. She invested so much of herself there and will never know the difference she made in the lives of the thousands of people with whom she came in contact. She poked, prodded, held, fended-off, swabbed, cleaned, consoled, laughed, joked, cried, and loved so very many of them. Countless times she wanted to bring one, or more, home with her at the end of the day.

I'm still surprised she never did.

My wife is no longer an ER nurse.

In practice.

Particularly, she is no longer a Pediatric ER nurse - because that has been her specialty since the doors to that department opened in 1994.

She will be forever in her soul, because she was born for that. For a season.

And she is extremely good at it.

She is the last of the original RNs to leave. She hung in there longer than all but one physician. Her co-workers even today long for her to stay. The comments are sincere and disbelieving that she is actually going.

If only.

But those aren't words we believe in.

We believe this chapter is written and a new one already has been - she simply has to read the words with her life.

It's a new chapter for both of us, but mostly for her.

A new venture.

A new practice.

A wonderful opportunity with her best friend and a physician who respected her work enough to seek her for the position.

She blames me, but I did nothing.

But pray.

For years.

The health risks of the ER are hard enough, but hers has been compounded by nerve damage in her lower back.

She can't pick up children who aren't breathing and run the 50 feet to the critical beds without doing significant damage to herself.

And there are no guarantees she could even pick up the child.

Or run.

We're all damaged in our own ways.

Hers is her back.

And her hopes.

But beyond what she will miss, she knows and hopes and loves the future opportunity.

It's different.

But that's life.

So, I prayed for many years that another opportunity would avail itself that would allow her to remove herself from the inherent risks while allowing her to enjoy her work and keep her skills.

Or develop new ones.

So Tuesday will begin a new venture.

One that I hope lasts a long time.