Sundays are
deadly days at
Canadian Blood Services, my place of
employment.
Two weeks ago today, a fellow
employee of mine found out during her shift that her
brother, 41, had died of a sudden
heart attack. She let out multiple
blood-curdling screams as she was led out of the main
office area. I could only watch from my cubicle in
awe of someone who had honestly had her
heart broken.
The same thing happened
tonight, sort of.
I was working out in the main office area, doing some half-
training with some of the older ladies that do the
telerecruitment for
blood donations. Suddenly I hear a slight "
thump" behind me, and there is a body on the
floor.
Rushing over, I hear her
mumble: "I thought it was my father, it's my husband, it's my husband." Turns out the poor woman's husband had a severe
stroke, and is in the hospital. Cue screaming, cue exit, cue uneasy quiet afterwards.
I've always thought I've been good with
death. It's inevitable. I don't tend to
mourn. But these small brushes with death are starting to unsettle me. Not that I'm getting afraid of death, but something else.
I try to put myself in their
situation, try and feel what they
must be feeling at a moment like that. I picture my loved ones, dying... dead... but nothing comes. I feel
empathy, I'm sure it
hurts, but I just can't imagine
what it feels like. I've had people die on me before, once infront of my own eyes, but I have never
reacted that strongly.
I worry that I've grown too
hard.
Update: It's
official - her husband died a few short minutes ago. People are going home for the night early, as if it was their family member that died. I'm still here, as
there is work to be done. Does that make me
cold?