So I worked as an ICU nurse for a short while. One story that I always remember was a man who was dying and his wife knew it and was staying with him. Sometimes that takes a long time. It's like your body is a huge sports stadium. The lights are turns off one section at a time, with that loud, echoing clank...leaving the stadium darker and and more deserted. His dying had taken a few days and he was finally near the end, unconscious the whole time. Finally at that doorway, ready to close the stadium door behind him. I remeber telling the wife that it was time and if she wanted to say anything to him, she needed to say it now. She had been drained and quiet in the corner watching it all, everyday- almost afraid to leave. She stood with a resolve and energy I had not seen from her before. She leaned onto him and put her hand on his arm, staring intently into his face. It was a gesture that must have happened countless times, in love, in anger, in conversation, so practiced and comfortable. I thought she was going to say 'goodbye' or 'I love you'. But instead she started saying 'Thank you'. Thank you for all the years she had with him, thank you for her children, for her life she had with him. It was such an intimate moment or pure gratitude in the face of immense pain.
Because of that moment, I realize I want to be grateful and thankful at the end of my life. I want to be thankful for my husband, for my kids, for my life, and feel gratitude like she did when faced with an incredible pain. She left to go home shortly after her husband died, slowly, trudging under the weight of grief that was bearing down on her like thick water.
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