A nurse’s grief – It is OK to cry

She mailed me one day after she had received one of my inspirational cards. I could envision her sitting at her desk, thinking of some prank she could pull on me, but knowing those days were over because she now was so weak and ill. Her message was genuine, she updated me on her condition and said how grateful we should be to have known each other, grateful for the laughs, the good working relationship, the support we gave each other, and we should thank the Universe for allowing our paths to cross. I noticed she was using past tense. I understood why when she went on to say that the abdominal fluid was too great for any more chemotherapy and radiation, she would have no more treatments and was leaving the hospital for the weekend to go to her parent’s home.

Later that day I learned that Debbie was at her parent’s home, planning her funeral, and saying her farewells. Her courage was awe-inspiring as she faced death. She had been told she had one to three weeks to put her affairs in order. She did not tell me that, and warned others not to tell me. But she knew they would.

I wrote her a letter, summing up our twenty year friendship, the dreadful time when she lost her son, how fortunate I was to have her care for my son, how pleased I would be when I would realize we were working a shift together, how dependable and kind she was always, and how she had contributed such a new dimension to my life. I reminded her of the Partridgeberries of Newfoundland that she had heard about and wanted to try, berries that I took back to her after a trip to Newfoundland. She was overwhelmed at such a simple act of kindness. I read my letter over and over before I clicked ‘SEND’. Somehow I knew it would be my last correspondence with my cherished colleague and friend.

And it was.

Debbie passed away July 3, 2006 at 4:30AM, at her parent’s home. She was forty-nine years old. It was exactly two months since she had been told her diagnosis.

My tears fall and my heart aches as I remember Debbie with her boisterous laughter, her practical jokes, her love of nursing, and her hours of volunteering with the SPCA, making sure no animal was mistreated as long as she was around. Her whole persona was unique and sweet. Her life had not been easy, but the last five years had been better, and I hoped her future would be bright. Her tender heart and loving attitude attracted many friends, and she was a gift in many lives.

I miss her. I loved her, and in spite of the Nursing Instructor’s teaching of long ago, nurses do cry, and now they cry with patients and their families. I think it is a a step in the right direction. It says to the bereaved, “I care too.”

I am not ashamed that my tears of loss still flow, and I am not hiding the pain of my grief. I grieve tremendously as I recall the goodness of a wonderful nurse who enhanced my life, who overcame obstacles, and had suffered losses and terrible setbacks. I admit it angers me that she is gone. I am not afraid to say I loved her, and cherish the experiences we shared, and I try to take comfort in the fact that her suffering is over.

I will always miss you Debbie. It was with you that I learned that nurses do cry.

Now I cry for you.