I pulled into the parking lot at the pizza place. I had just under 20 mins to get my pizza and get back to work – half hour break does not give me much time to clear my head.
I looked down at the parking space. It had one of those concrete barriers in front of the store-front protecting the walkway and the pizza store.
I could faintly read the letters “Video Update Parking Only”
Oh fuck I gotta tell Mark this….
Oh wait. I can’t.
Sadness washed over me. Not the deep, broken, painful grief storm that hits me when a trigger gets me, but the sadness of “oh yeah… that’s gone” and the reminder that for a moment, I forgot and I wanted to tell him something.
Something he’d think was funny. Something he could relate to but no one else in my life could.
A Video Update store I’d never been to but I knew where it was now. It was on the cusp of his territory as District Manager. He managed from Williams Lake to Prince Rupert and I’d never been to the Williams Lake store.
And I saw it… the faint markings of the remnants of a business that died out in 2010… well actually before that. 2010 was when the company that bought out Video Update finally went bankrupt.
It was the faint markings of a life gone by.
I let the sadness wash over me, then I picked up my pizza and headed back to work.
At work, I was dressing the wound of a patient who was from my home town. We talked about the places we knew. We talked about how much it changed. We talked about how it was not our home anymore.
And then he started talking about his medical history. About how he used to be diabetic but he wasn’t. How he had had a pancreas transplant. How this had happened at Vancouver General Hospital 20 years ago.
And all I could think about was how 6 year ago, I was told it wasn’t a possibility. That maybe somewhere, some one had done it, but it wasn’t really possible.
And in the middle of wound care, my most favourite thing in the world to do in nursing…
I fell apart and had to leave the room.
I lost my mind and started crying.
Because 6 years ago I was told that it wasn’t possible and what if it had been and it would have saved his life?
It’s all a moot point now. But at that moment, on that day, my heart broke again.
And instead of the wave of sadness like at the pizza joint… I was hit with the deep ugly sobs that always result in me looking like I’ve smoked a lot of pot. Bloodshot eyes and blotchy face and cannot hide that from anyone.
I’m happy for the gentleman who is living his best happiest.
Life is full of triggers. Some will be a gentle reminder…. some will be a brick wall I run into full force.
I’m grateful that I loved well enough to still grieve that hard.