As a Registered Nurse, death comes hand in hand with the struggles of our work. I make it an effort that if a patient is about to pass and have no family, friends or absolutely any loved ones by their side, I stay in the room with them. I believe one of the saddest things in life is dying alone. We were not alone when we were born into this world, it feels unfair to leave it solo. So when I can help it, I stay by their side.

One day I was floated to the oncology unit and I had a patient, let’s call her Marjorie, on comfort care (poor prognosis and plan of care has been agreed to cancel all life-sustaining treatment). It was obvious with her breathing that the moment was coming soon. So I quickly completed the rest of my tasks, ensured my other patients had all they needed, and I grabbed a chair and sat by her bedside, taking a computer to work on documentation. I quickly glanced to the other side of the bed and noticed that the previously lit candle (patient loved candles and was given the ok to keep one lit) was no longer burning. I remember feeling disappointed that I did not have any matches, but the thought quickly left my mind as Marjorie’s breathing patterns reminded me the time was even closer.

Suddenly, I felt as if someone was standing close behind me, their breath faintly landing on the back of my neck. I quickly turned my head. No one there. All I could see were the figures of my coworkers through the doorway quickly walking by as they went about their duties. Then something caught my eye and I immediately glanced back to the candle. It was burning once again, stronger and brighter this time. I remember feeling a strange comfort, a sense of security, far from fear and concern as I was mesmerized by the flicker of the flame. For whatever reason, and I will never be able to begin to explain, I suddenly said out loud “It’s ok, Marjorie. I’m here. It’s ok to go.” And within a few seconds, the candle went out, and a few seconds after that my patient’s breathing stopped.

I remember sharing this experience with my colleagues, but they all brushed it off as the window being open and my fatigue getting the best of me. But the windows were definitely closed, because there’s no way of opening them. I was also definitely not fatigued, but very wide awake and present.

I have never been a religious person, despite being from a religious family. But after over 8 years of being a Registered Nurse and 2 years of being a Nurse Practitioner, I can honestly say the experiences I have had with this career has brought me closer to my faith or at least acknowledge the possibility of some other side. Marjorie was there in that room that day, in both the physical and spiritual sense, and I’m just glad I was able to be there. She did not die alone, and I know in my heart she knew that.

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