Friday was one of those days where I truly felt like I was in my element. It's a strange feeling when knowing that it means I am at the bedside of a dying person, supporting the family through the dying process. While I think the 8th grade version of myself knew that I would be giving back to families at the end of their loved ones life, I don't think there was any way for me to fully comprehend what that would entail. I don't know that I ever imagined having the level of comfort with death that I do. Yet here I am, feeling more connected with the dying that I sometimes feel with the living. There is something to be said when a family calls panicked because they aren't sure if they are doing the right thing or if what they are observing is the dying of the loved one. To go to them, to see what they are seeing, and to guide them through this process feels like what the medical team must feel like during birth. In the birthing process, the nurses and doctors guide the family through the birth of the child. Years and years later, I help guide those children through the death of their parent. It's a reverent time. I become a temporary family member. It's an honor I don't always feel I deserve. If I can take the panic out of the loved ones voices and gently coach them in the care they are providing. If I can make sure they understand the great deed they are performing in caring for their loved one, then I have done my job at the end of the day. If more people can die peacefully because of my help, then I have done my job to the best of my ability.
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