Where do you live?

Well, I don't mean this literally. I'm not taking a poll. I have just been thinking a lot about life lately; where I live, what's on my heart. Lately, it takes more effort not to think about it. I have been thinking about the struggles people face every day, the impossible decisions they are faced with; about the decisions I make every day and what effect they may have on other people. I worry too much. I think way too long and hard about things. I'm pretty sure others would probably never give a second thought to the things I analyze over and over. I sometimes think about where my mind would be if I didn't see people die about three times a week. Lately, I wonder what the toll on my heart has been. This is where I have been "living" these days.

I remember my first clinical day in the hospital as a student nurse. I remember the smell of the patient I was taking care of. I didn't eat lunch that day. It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't a gross smell; it was just really different. My first memories as a registered nurse are of a man I took care of with cancer. He didn't seem sick. He was young, in his mid forties, and we had a great conversation before I left in the morning. I looked forward to taking care of him when I returned that evening. I glanced at the patient board when I got to work the next night. Not there. My fellow nurse told me with a cavalier shrug, "He died." I stared in disbelief. But....he wasn't sick. I spent the rest of the night caring for other people trying to put him out of my mind. He wasn't that sick. When I got in my car to drive home the next morning-it hit me. I cried-no- I wept all the way home, for a really nice man I just met, for his family who clearly must miss him terribly. And from that day forward, a layer of mortar was laid down on my heart. To protect it; to protect it from breaking over and over again. Each time, every death, every heart breaking story, every patient fighting for their life, every family member clutching to every minute and breath they can share with their loved one; another layer fortified protection around my heart. I don't cry on the way home from work anymore. I'm not sure if it ever happened again. That first time was painful. I quickly realized how to protect myself.

Yesterday, I watched a man one year younger than myself die. He was brought into the emergency room by paramedics working furiously to bring him back and then it was our turn to try. We were not successful. I watched his parents hearts break. I felt the mortar. I didn't cry. I stayed on the safe side. I still really care about these people. Sometimes I think if I start to cry, I just might not be able to stop.

So, I am focused on not running away from really painful situations. I might cry a little bit. I hope I don't cry a lot. I don't really think I will. I'm sure it will be good for me. It's a strange thing to write about. It really doesn't have much to do with photography, but in a way, I think it will help what I see.

This is where I am living these days. Challenging myself to tear down some barriers and be a bit more brave. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

PS A huge heartfelt thank you to all the men and women who protect our country and allow us the freedoms that we have.
Have a wonderful Memorial Day!