We’ve met under unfortunate circumstances. Your family member is slowly, but surely dying. Seems blunt to say out loud, but we all know it’s happening. No one is 100 percent ready to say goodbye to a loved one and neither are the nursing staff.

I cared for your loved one for many, long hours throughout the night. Our biggest obstacle was making sure he was in minimal pain. The end was inevitable, although no one knew exactly when, but we wanted to make sure he was as comfortable as he could be in his final minutes, hours, or days.

He may not have said many words to me, due to his condition, but I could read his non-verbal language loud and clear. He didn’t want to be turned too much, he didn’t want too much stimulation such as loud voices or the lights on. He really just wanted to be alone with his family. We frequently rounded on you with your family member, as our own safety precaution, but we understood the necessity of spending these critical hours alone with him. These final days will replay in your mind for a long time, and our goal is to make sure you have a positive memory of your family member.

I may not have known him for very long, but we somehow formed a connection. I wanted to know this man: this man who was a pillar in society, full of knowledge, and was actively involved in his children’s lives. I wanted to know this man when he wasn’t lying in my hospital bed.

Thank you for allowing me to care for him. Thank you for letting me into such a private, emotional moment in your life.

You will mourn the loss of your father, but I will as well. I will hold back the tears while you shed your own. But once I am alone in the silence of my car, I will cry like I’ve lost my own family member. I will grieve much like you will, but from a distance. They say each death gets slighter easier; however, I will never forget losing my first patient.

To the dying patient’s family… I’ll never forget you and I will forever hold you in my heart.