Some of this road we know. Crisis is not new to us.
Emergency is not new to us.
Anxiety is not new to us and neither is death.
We've been there for people as worlds fall apart,
as tearful goodbyes are said,
as people seek their rest after a long
and bruising battles as life ends and lives change forever.
We are there at the crossroads.
We're no strangers to people breaking down around us.
No strangers to the fears people have of pain
and separation.
No strangers to the aching mysteries and unexpected
graces of the journey's end.
We've come to rely on our training,
to trust in our compassion,
to stand with one another even to share a joke with some dark
humor and to marvel at our front row seat at the worst
and best that humanity has to offer.
Darkness and light mix and mingle in this work
that we do and every day that we do
this we are changed in ways both profound and painful,
and as we work around death we all have come
to know life more fully.
Each day we've been brave enough to stand near this abyss
with those it swallows up and to stand with those
whose worlds are forever changed on the edge.
But now everything is changed.
Death no longer sits behind the comfort of a medical diagnosis,
a warning, a long system of treatments,
the time to prepare and be supported,
time to be surrounded by those we love.
Death haunts us on the news in images of swamped UCUs,
tent cities of the infected,
body bags piled up in hospital hallways and coffins
in mass graves, skyrocketing statistics,
stay at home orders, empty grocery store shelves,
shuttered businesses and schools and lines
of neighbors in dire need.
Death is no longer kept at a professional
objective distance.
It's anticipated in every breath and cough and chill.
It's confined us to our houses.
It's felt in yawning social distances that video
conferences and text messages can't fill.
The world outside our work that was once our
refuge now is besieged. People we know are impacted.
Those we serve are even more tearful and afraid and we rarely
see them in person anymore. This is a new road, less stable,
less safe and less known. Where we walk we don't know.
Where it ends we don't know.
Where there are traps and pitfalls we can
only do our best to plan, to see and to adapt.
But on this road we do not walk alone. Our compassion,
our courage, our wisdom, our strength, our grit,
these do not desert us. And neither are our fears,
our weaknesses or our tears too burdensome to bear.
As everything falls apart we are pulled together
called and sent out into that great need empowered
by our unwavering conviction that we are not
here for ourselves. Our families, our neighbors,
our patients, our colleagues, our duties,
our spirits and our faiths,
they all call us to the next step and they take it with us.
Each day will have its challenge.
Each night will have its aches of heart.
And we are called here not as heroes but as humans.
We bind the wounds of others and we bear our own.
All we've ever been,
behind the medications and the wisdom,
behind the endless array of patients and tasks
are caregivers.
Caregivers brave enough to give names to the unthinkable,
to walk where others struggle to tread,
and when all else fails to be the voice
that simply says I'm here.
We've always been companions and guides to those
lost in the dark and lights to lead where hands cannot heal.
We walk a new road but with unbroken
resolve in our path.
Our service up to now has prepared us and our
hope will lead us home,
and help us continue in our mission to make
sure that no one dies alone, afraid or in pain.