(Lifetime) Endings

The ER on the day of the accident

It's been 9 days. 

216 hours. 

12960 minutes. 

Just a short memory ago, really. 

Yet, literally… a lifetime ago. 

Dressed in my hospital scrubs I rush over to the Emergency room at our hospital. There's been an accident. A crash. A motorcycle. A young man… one of ours! I am pretty sure I won't be of much help, but I feel compelled to see it with my own eyes. My pace slows down as I arrive at the door. My eyes glance at the door handle. I know, instinctively, that on the other side is a scene that will shock me and touch the depths of my heart. But I am a nurse. I need to see the clinical facts and absorb it all to understand. I open the door and am received by silence. The young man is lying on a gurney in the middle of the room. I take in the obvious procedures done on him and the demeanor of those present and inconspicuously take my leave. 

With a heavy heart, I return to my work station and am quickly immersed in my duties. An ambulance pulls up and through the window I see the gurney pass by, surrounded by our doctors, nurses and the newly arrived paramedics. The hospital chaplain flits back and forth between the staff and worried spectators, offering what I can imagine are words of comfort and hope. It's not an easy day on the job for any of us! The ambulance drives off, its bright lights reflecting off the glass from my window. People are still milling around - still looking out in the distance in the direction where the ambulance drove off to. It's like time has stood still and no one knows what to do. No one can believe that something like this has happened here… to one of us. 

An hour or two later we receive the news that the young man barely made it to the hospital in the city, and died. A part of me recognizes that this was an obvious possibility, but the reality of it all is that I (along with all the others) had been hoping for a miracle. There is a sense of finality and resignation in the air. 

The thing about tragedies in life is that they don't always happen "for a reason." That's just what they are: events that cause great suffering, destruction and distress. There aren't always lessons to be learned which neatly make everything whole again. Our lives are definitely not Hollywood or Disney movies with "happily ever afters." It's probably more accurate (if we continue to follow film analogies) to consider our lives an independent film; like those on Sundance that don't always have a good ending. 

But, human and naïve as I am, I stubbornly and almost desperately seek out my healing in the form of at least a decent ending. 

These are the short scenes of my ending: 

***

I walk out to the breezeway and am stopped by a lady waiting her turn for a doctor's appointment. 

"I was watching. Is the boy going to be all right?"she asks. 

I am momentarily confused. Who is this? I see the hunched-over and frail body of the elderly stranger and I am struck by her profound concern. It amazes me the compassion we innately have towards those around us. So great is its force that even strangers are pulled in. 

***

I observe from afar as the hospital administrator and foreman receive the family of the young man and physically guide them through the events of the terrible day. They are patient and obliging in their time of need. Meetings are set up with the young man's roommates and friends so that the relatives can rescue remnants of their loved one's life in the form of friendships, memories, items, etc. I can't help but feel proud of the compassion of our people. 

***

The ambulance returns from its trip to the city and I rush out to help unload it. Our nurse steps out of its side door, her movements slow and heavy. I stand in front of her and look her straight in the eye. 

"How are you?" I ask her. 

There is deep, deep sorrow in the pools of her eyes. I hear her sigh and can almost physically feel the weight on her shoulders. It clutches at my soul and I can feel my heart rising in my throat. 

"I kept him alive until we got there," was her answer. 

I knew that this minute success would indubitably be a balm to her soul. Although the young man had not survived, she would be comforted by the fact that he hadn't died on her watch. Tiny comforts. 

I pull her in for a hug and hold her for a long time. She doesn't cry, being so exhausted as she is. But she clings to me and I know that this is exactly what she needs. I thank Jesus that I am allowed to hold her up in her time of need. I, myself, feel unexplainably lifted up. 

***

A memory returns to me as I remember the previous Sunday services, just 3 days before the accident. I am sitting in the last pew and in front of me is this young man sitting next to a beautiful blonde with gorgeous hair (bc her hair is all I see from behind). The person leading services asks if there are guests among us and the young man stands up, proudly introducing his girlfriend to the congregation. They are planning on getting married soon and she has come to visit him. 

As I reflect on this memory, I am wowed by the timing of it all… It was an unknown final goodbye between the almost-engaged couple. A final weekend in which they most likely made lovely memories drinking tereré together, going for walks, talking, hugging, etc. A gift of sorts, if you will. 

***

There are so many more short scenes that I could add, but then I would never get to the end of this entry. 

Endings are hard. They aren't neat or simple. They are horrible and unfair. 

Dear Reader, I don't have a good ending for you this time. It really is a Sundance film. The drapes fall and signal the end of the show on a cast of confused and hurting actors. The only silver lining I could find was... each other. In every single one of my scenes, there are no lone actors. I dare to presume that real life is much the same. We don't act alone. There are others in the cast. 

Even though I still can't make heads or tails of it all, as I look back on the scenes… no one was ever alone. Perhaps our greatest challenge in times of grief is to remember this. There are others around us grieving along, also uncertain of how things should or will end. 

That's it for today. Perhaps a more cheerful entry will come soon :)