And That Was That
As I close my eyes and drift myself off to sleep, I pray for dreams that whisk me away into a world full of wonder: a world lit with never-ending light and peaceful in its stillness. I pray for dreams that wash away the burdens of my failures and cleanses me of my self-doubt. I pray for dreams that ease my pain and wipes away my tears.
I allow myself to smile and dream, but just for a moment.
And then I awake.
And I realize, everything I dream is fantasy.
Many of those in my profession share similar sentiments as I, especially following this past year. We wish for release from our burdens, but when we come home, we are instantly reminded that we are alone.
No amount of words and no amount of pictures can ever begin to describe the realities of our profession to the world.
For no one can truly understand the magnitude of watching fresh warm blood splatter the fronts of 10 people huddled inside a room.
For no one can truly understand the magnitude of carrying two picnic coolers up three flights of stairs to replace the blood that was lost within the room.
For no one can truly understand the magnitude of the silence that echoed across the halls when there was nothing more to be done.
As much as we pray and as much as we dream, the burdens we carry are ours alone. We cannot share it. No matter how much we try.
And I close my eyes again and take a breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. “In and out, in and out, in and out,” I tell myself. My breath threatens to shake as my coworkers and I turn to look at one another.
“And that was that.”
