There are angels among us.

I have been an ICU nurse for over 3 years now. Unfortunately, I have seen many kids die on our unit. Most of the time, these kids were born to die....meaning that from the moment they were born, they had multiple health issues that would inevitably, invariably lead to their demise. Fewer passed away from acute issues, like traumas or sudden cardiac arrest. I've lost patients that I have cared for, some for a short amount of time, and some for a very long time. But I had never lost a patient on my shift. Until last week. :(
"E" was a one week old baby that was admitted to our unit with probable seizure activity. He was perfectly healthy, perfectly normal until one night, his parents noticed that he wasn't eating well. When he started to have a seizure, they brought him to the ER and then he was transferred to our unit, where I admitted him. I took care of him for 3 weeks, before unfortunate blood tests ruled that he had a fatal error of metabolism (meaning that his body couldn't handle waste products efficiently, and would leave him neurologically devastated). His parents lovingly decided to make him comfort measures only, removing him from the ventilator, and allowing him to die a peaceful, dignified death.
I took care of him the night that he passed away, giving him morphine, and watching his breathing slow. And when he died, I took him from his grandmother's arms and bathed his little body one last time, covering him with yummy smelling lotion, leaving him smelling like a baby and not like our hospital. His death was very hard on me, because when I looked at him in that big bed, I saw my own daughter, grey and limp.
I think that with time, health care professionals become jaded, not that they don't still empathize with families when they lose their loved ones, that is inevitable when you work in a children's hospital, but there is a certain amount of distance that you have to put between you and the kids that you care for. When I was a nursing student, every patient's death was devastating, every death profound. And the longer you are there, the more you start to realize that certain kids really are better off dead than living the life that they are living, and so it is easier to justify death.
After "E" passed away, I held him and wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, as I had never lost a patient on my shift before. Thankfully, three other nurses who saw my flat-lined monitor came to my rescue, silently warming the water, changing the linens and rubbing lotion over him as my tears fell for him and his family. When I think back to that night, I imagine that those three girls floated in with long, wispy white gowns, like angels to take care of the two of us. And I am reminded of the scene in Les Miserables where the women sing and clean up the fallen soldiers after the revolution.
Somehow, having Avonlea has filed down my jagged, jaded edges and now I am just a pile of mush all over again. Empathy has a whole new meaning.
My heart breaks for "E's" family, and I hope that they can find some peace in his passing. I know that with my amazing friends, I have found my peace. Thank you, my angels.