When I was ten, my mom died. At the funeral, the pastor took my cousins hand and touched my mother’s face. I am glad he did not do that to me. My cousin was only nine at the time. He said that my mother’s face felt cold.
When I was working as a Home Health Aide, my patient died on me. She was in the last stages of cancer. I had to check her pulse and pronounce her dead to her daughter. I was so scared that my imagination saw her chest rising and falling. I told the daughter that I was not getting a pulse. I did not want to come right out and say that she was dead.
When she first realized that her mom was unresponsive, she told me to check her pulse. I was thinking to myself, why me?