I discovered she died the way I typically learn a patient I’d navigated for died: the tiny abbreviation “dcsd” appeared next to her name on my computer’s patient list. Although her passing was not unexpected, I felt a deep sadness at the loss of her beautiful soul. From my desk, I sent a silent prayer of remembrance, and then another asking comfort for her family.

She was about the same age as my daughter, and like her, married to a devoted husband, the mother of young children. She was also an only child like my daughter, and feeling this connection, I grieved for her mother too. I wondered if there were things she would have done differently if she’d known their time together would be cut short.

Nursing doesn’t stop for the holidays.

Dia de Los Muertos. Illustration by Julianna Paradisi

We are entering the holiday season, and nurses begin scheduling their holidays off, and on. Not everyone will get what they desire. Perhaps it’s not coincidental that ringing in this season is the Latino celebration, Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead, Oct. 31-Nov. 2), which is not only a celebration of loved ones who have passed on, but also encourages us to reflect on the quality of our mortal lives and relationships.

As with most nurses, throughout my career holidays and weekends off were rotated. Because of this, while my daughter was growing up, I missed every other Christmas morning, or Christmas dinner; same with Thanksgiving. Sometimes I missed school programs and field trips. There were missed soccer matches too.

It was no different for my nurse colleagues. It was not an uncommon to overhear coworkers calling home to explain they would be late for a family celebration “because Mommy (or Daddy) needs to take care of a sick child.” Once, a coworker called his wife, who was coping with fertility treatment, telling her he was not going to make it home in time to give her the injection—but had arranged for a nurse friend to stop by and do it for her.

Nursing as service.

It’s a form of gratitude, I suppose, to give our time and expertise to those less fortunate during their time of crisis; at least that’s how I’ve experienced it, and justified the missed childhood events. I was staying late, missing time with my daughter, because a patient needed me more at that moment.

I wonder if my daughter felt the same way about it? I never asked. I’d assumed she had understood all these years. Did she?

The simple answer is to ask her, but I am not so inclined. Would I expect a parent serving our country in the military, a physician, or a missionary to ask? Of course our children miss us when we are not available to them; it’s evident in every video on the evening news of a child melting into tears when surprised by the return of a parent called to duty.

The sacrifice made by people in the serving professions, including nursing, can sometimes mean sacrifice on the part of their families too. I believe it’s possible for children to love and admire a parent called away by duty, yet achingly regret their absence at the same time.

There are patients living today who would commend me for my decisions to serve. As I near the end of my nursing career, I wonder: is this enough?