The sun comes in through the window, spilling over the carpet floor. It is bright outside, but the shadows cling to the wood paneling on the walls, escaping the hot summer day. I look around the room and see trinkets here and there. Photos line the walls, covered with a thin-film of dust, yet still shine with the smiles they hold. The photos tell a rich history of a life fully lived, celebrated, and loved. Family looks on, so sad in these final moments.

Called to help, yet there is nothing to be done. We can’t transport, we can’t treat… we can’t help. In my time on the ambulance, there has always been something to do, to organize, to try. But this time there is no rush, no list of tasks to quickly do, which keep the mind occupied and focused. So I quietly stand there looking at the photos of smiling family in moments of triumph, moments of love. My small words of sympathy are seemingly miniscule in expressing what I would hope to convey. That I am sorry we can not do more, sorry there is no solution, … sorry that it is indeed the end.

It is strange, but this moment strikes a chord from the typical chaos of a scene. Perhaps the realization that even with all the successes, all the love, we are still helpless to the eventuality of all things. I’ve discussed the logic before, but feeling the realization take hold is very different. I sigh when thinking of people arguing different perspectives, fighting over matter in one form or another. It all seems so silly when considering our timeless presence. We are but a breath of wind, carried swiftly through time. Better to spend that breath dancing among the tall grasses, working towards the peace of others, and live so that one day, we too may hold memories close of smiling loved ones.