They didn’t understand.
The hospital wasn’t simply my workplace anymore.
It was the only place where I knew exactly what to do.
Inside the emergency department, every problem demanded action. A patient arrived, we assessed the situation, and we worked to give that person the best possible chance.
There were procedures to follow, decisions to make, and people depending on me.
But when I returned home, there was nothing waiting except silence.
My wife had died years earlier. Losing her had been devastating, but somehow, with time and the love of our daughter and granddaughter, I had learned to carry that grief.
Then, three years ago, my entire world disappeared in a single evening.
My daughter, Emily, and her seven-year-old daughter, Lucy, were killed in a car accident.
I still remember the telephone call.
