On the worst night of my life, I met the kindest angel, Rincy. On Easter Sunday we ended up in ICU with my 26-year-old daughter. How could we be here? How was this possible? My daughter should not have been there fighting for her life, but there was no choice. This was how her story, her journey was ending. By the time the ER sent my daughter to the ICU, we knew we were not going to be leaving the hospital, the hospital where I work, and where my daughter worked. This Resurrection Sunday was going to see her resurrected into the loving arms of her Savior. Rincy was with us. Some nurses are blessed with kindness and empathy, gifts given to them as part of their very nature and personality. Rincy had these gifts in abundance, as well as skill. Her compassion to me and to my family was so gentle to my grieving heart. Her touch on my daughter and on my hand or my arm, so loving. I could see true compassion in her eyes, moistened by unshed tears, and in her works. She let us lead the narrative of our daughter's story, as much as we could, offering her wisdom and answering our questions. Mostly, she just stayed nearby should we need her, without interfering in our grief process. As a nurse, I knew some of the things she was doing for us; pausing the alarms so we didn't have that jarring noise repeatedly going off in our ears, lowering the alarm parameters to again keep the alarms at a minimum. As we tearfully gathered around my daughter's bed in a prayer circle, she quietly joined us. I don't remember her words to me that night, what I will forever remember is Rincy's kind eyes, her gentle touch, her soft voice in the reverence of that night, the unspoken compassion seen in her eyes, and the empathy that emanated from her heart to mine.
Because my daughter and I work here, this is family for us. But Rincy and the others didn't know me or my daughter, yet they treated us with the same care I feel they would have shown their own family.
I am heartbroken that my daughter is not here with me, and my life and the lives of my husband, son, and extended family are forever altered in ways I could never have imagined. I will forever mourn the loss of my beautiful sunshine and the unfulfilled dreams of who she would become. Yet, I am thankful for the mercies God gave me in my daughter's last hours, and one of those mercies was Rincy. Thank you, sweet Rincy. You are an amazing nurse, and Memorial Hermann is blessed to have you. I can only hope to be a nurse like you.