I’m really not sure how to refer to this woman. She wasn’t a friend, but then again, “professional acquaintance” seems so… distant. The difference she made in my life was immense, and I wouldn’t be where I am today if not for her.
And maybe that’s why the whole experience has been… weird. I haven’t shed any tears for this woman, and to claim that I’m distraught would be disingenuous. Yet, I am saddened by her passing. I want to say this to her family. I want to hug her husband and kids and offer my sympathies, to let them know how she touched my life, even so briefly.
Still, it’s not my place to do so.
There are some things that even my poor memory holds onto tightly. The first time I had a patient “code” on me is one of those memories. A “code,” in medical jargon, is the term for cardiac arrest, when the heart has stopped. The hospital’s overhead paging system will bellow “Code 99” or “Code Blue,” and any available doctors and
You may not have known Jake, but maybe you can still take something from his death: if there’s someone in your life you still care about, don’t just let them drift away. If you really do still care about them, make that effort and keep them a part of your life. Because you never know when you might lose them.
To all these random people walking down Fourth Avenue on this random Tuesday afternoon, he was just some motorist they read about in the paper. He was some unlucky guy who had a run-in with the cops. He was a footnote, a statistic, on a simmering issue of police brutality. As far as these people were concerned, he was simply “that guy who got shot.” But to me, he was a friend.