I'm Still Showing Up

A few weeks ago I got an unexpected phone call, that turned in to a very unexpected day, that involved an immense amount of both love and pain, and ended with a tremendous loss.



This person was a young and bright spirited individual, one whose love knew no bounds. This was a woman who had seen the darkest of dark, who had survived through more than most of us will ever have to but still lived with out hate. We had been working together since I started, first on research trials and then coordinating her care to list her for double lung transplant. She had shared intimate details of her life with me, both the pain and joy that she had experienced.

When I saw her that day, she was gasping for breath with eyes unfocused, legs bare, lips blue, and cheeks white. She was grabbing at the bed rails to hold her body up, almost as though trying to remain a float. She knew what was happening, she told me she was scared, that she didn't think she would make it. She didn't make it, but I did my absolute best to comfort her and to ease her fear. And though we can never know, I feel she was at peace when she was passed.  

I genuinely miss her. I carry her remembrance card in my wallet, next to Jennifer's and Marissa's, and honestly, I think daily about how not to let their stories die.

I don't find that attitude to be unsettling or depressing, I find it comforting, I find it gives me more purpose, but I do realize it's heavy. It may not be for everyone, but for me it's part of who I am.

With all of the "heaviness", I am finding that it is so easy to be unhappy, unhappy in general, unhappy with work, with life, with circumstance, with this minute, with whatever. I know I'm not alone in that, but then I am reminded of this beautiful girl, and this overwhelming feeling of guilt and sadness blankets me. What am I unhappy about? I'm unhappy because this has been hard, because it's been a difficult, insanely difficult, past few months, is that fair? Is it fair to be unhappy with things being hard? Of course it is, but that doesn't make it any easier. This girl would have told me I looked pretty, that my outfit was so coordinated, that my job was so cool, that she wanted me to take her to Binghamton with me when I left, that she hoped Ian wouldn't mind her moving in.  She had wanted so much more for her life and I did too, I had hoped for transplant, I had hoped for a break for her, I told her I'd come down from nursing school to see her breathing with those bright and shiny new lungs. She didn't get that break and here I am with endless possibilities for my life, still finding it so easy to feel unhappy. It's hard to reconcile that, and it's hard to get up each day, with the weight of the lives lost on my shoulders. But I can't help but carry them. This year has been hard as hell but at the end of it I'll have survived and they will have died. How can I leave that behind? How can I not want to make more of myself and my life, having lived and worked with them? I don't think it's a feeling that will ever escape me, and I hope at the end of the road, having gone on this journey will make a better, more compassionate, and more human, person. But still, the hardness of it all remains.

So, what can we do? We can try, actively, to pursue the happiness that remains despite all of the heaviness and all of the hardness. We know that all of this pain exists, but people are still smiling, people still find time to dance in the rain, to play on the swings, to go for long walks, to pet their puppies, to hug their children, to plant gardens, to show up every day. Maybe that's all we need.