She was the kind of nurse I often wished I could be. And maybe, some time in the distant past, I was a bit like her.
Even-tempered. Caring. Always upbeat. Never once did I hear her make a snarky comment. Never heard her complain about the amount of work, the idiocy of management, the ingratitude of the patients for whom we bend over backwards without expecting anything in return, other than respect. Which nurses often don't get.
Compassionate. Soft-spoken. Always smiling. And none of this changed when she became so very sick. Sick to the point where she once, discreetly, held a basin under the desk in case the chemo treatment she'd just undergone might cause her to vomit.
It was a long, fierce battle, one she never complained about. As the sole carrier of the health benefits for her family, she worked nearly up till the very end. This alone proves she's a far better person than me, to not want to saddle her family with medical bills. I would have said, "Tough--I'm dying! I am not dragging myself to work."
The heavens are now shining a thousand times brighter.