Last night I met a 33 year old beautiful lady who said she is a pediatric hospice nurse.
I had her repeat it. One more time? She laughed and sadly I understood: This woman is a nurse to children that went to their own home to die.
It took everything I had not to burst into tears. I couldn't imagine anything more horrible than being a nurse a dying child, yet alone be that mother.
I studied this brave girl; she was blonde, oh so pretty and beyond full of life. In just a few sentences I understood she 'got' the fragility of life as she daily gave of herself to children that would never see puberty or adulthood.
My heart ached as I wondered how one approaches such a meaningful yet heart wrenching job? Did she cry often? Did she feel sad? Did she think about these children at night as she lay in her own bed?
I told her I hoped I never saw her working in my house. She laughed her contagious laugh and I knew the families that saw her in their homes were lucky to have such an angel.
I then went home, let the tears bust and hugged my children. Sick or not, hugs yours. Tight.