Standing Outside the Fire

Death is rude.  It is cruel. Unjust. Unkind. Unfair.  It plays by a set of rules we are not allowed to see. It scars us. It comes swiftly and it drags its heals.  It steals us away.

And, at some point it becomes what it is.  The end of a life. 

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I work around Death all the time.  You work as an oncology nurse long enough, and that light at the end of the tunnel ends up being you more often than you might think.  My colleges and I have learned the art of Death. In fact, my co-workers often joke that we are angels of Death. 

We put on our nurses cap (figuratively, of course), strap on our stethoscope (literally), and play nurse.  We can put away all those fears and doubts and sadness that surround Death, and we can become it's angel. We can comfort a family member; we can count breaths, look for signs of discomfort, for that frown line that appears when they hurt; we can call the donor line and pronounce a death; we can touch a hand softly and whisper a quiet word of support, letting someone know they are not alone.  We are the tour guides on this journey.  We are asked, "How long?" and, "Is this normal?."  We get to warn people when things have changed, when we see the lights begin to dim and flicker. We get to coach and console.  We sympathize and council.  We nurse.

We all have our oddities: we buy the newspaper for the obits, we suggest that the baby lullaby that plays over the hospital intercom when a baby is born should be have a musical counterpart played when a soul leaves the hospital, and we oftentimes make crass and inappropriate jokes about dying. This is because we know, perhaps more than anyone, how emotionally and physically wrong-side-outing death can be, and so we cling to each other and our silly little oddities.

And we are good at it. 

It's strange.  Being good at Deathing.  (New word... go with it. I think it means, more or less, to bring about the process of death)  But, my co-workers and I take great pride in a peaceful death on the floor.  We celebrate his or her life and memories and sigh with relief when a suffering soul has been released from his or her Earthly prison.

Sometimes a death takes us by surprise.  It shocks us in it's timing, it's urgency, it's victim.  We get too close, we stand too near the fire and burn our fingers, singe our hair.  We step away holding tightly to our burns with a kind of awe that follows you around when you burn yourself on a pot you've cooked with for years.

And we tell ourselves that we were mistaken for standing so close, and plan to take a step back the next time.  To pull ourselves away.  Protect ourselves.

And at some point, we find ourselves burned again.

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Standing outside the fire
Life is not tried it is merely survived
If you're standing outside the fire 
               -Garth Brooks (Standing Outside the Fire)


The question remains: is it better to have been present, been there, been emotionally invested and then have been burned?  Or, is it better of stand a distance away?

The burn hurts.  It marks you.  Leaves you changed permanently.  The burn lives inside you always.

But, having burned, and then having stood back a distance, I have come to wonder if I do a disservice to myself and the world by creating barriers between myself and the fire?  I find guilt inside myself for not having been closer.  And so I step forward.


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I was burned again tonight.  A girl I've never met, from a town I've never been to, in a car I've never seen, died.  Today.  And I felt a new kind of burn.  A kind of sympathy burn.  The kind of pain you feel when the burn doesn't really belong to you and you have no ice to give the burn victim.

I know cancer death.  I even know young cancer death.  You can see it coming from a mile away and you can brace yourself.  Sure, that bracing may not save you much.  The train impacts just as hard when you see it as when you don't.  But, there is something about this foresight that protects us.

Car accidents are not anticipated.  They are not foreseen.  They are an unexpected phone call. 

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I wish I could pat a hand and listen to the life refection stories.  I wish I could be there.  Help guide the way. Warn someone.  Help navigate the tumultuous storm.

I wish I had an ice cube for my sister.