We just returned to our station and I’m unable to sleep. There is a feeling of grief that’s come over me.

Hours earlier you left the house with your sister and cousin to enjoy brunch with your family. You never made it. Instead we met when you collided head on with another vehicle. Your husband later disclosed he had planned to be in the car with you, but something came up keeping him home. He was frantically searching for answers on scene.

Your last words were with me. Not the people you loved the most. A stranger. As we tried to reverse your injuries, I told you everything was going to be okay. We calmly explained what was happening as we worked quickly to intervene. You grabbed my arm frightened as we sedated you. You closed your eyes and they never opened again. Today was your last day.

DanSun Photos

As a first responder, I am often reminded how important our last words are. With family, friends, co-workers, and patients. Having many last conversations is a gift disguised as a burden. Our patients need us clinically but often they need us emotionally. It takes courage and vulnerability to go there with someone that’s dying. Our patient’s need comfort and want to be seen beyond the 7.5 ET tube. Often, the outcome is out of our hands and all we could do has been
done, however… we can always offer comfort with our last words.

Prayers to you and your family.