“I was twelve at the time, and we were at a playground not far from our house. I grew up in Vermont; it was the middle of winter, and we still went to that park every day.” She stuck the flower in her hair, between the folds, her hands now free and fidgeting. “We were supposed to meet my two other brothers and join the neighborhood kids for a game of hide-and-go-seek. David was standing on top of the jungle gym, and I was hanging from one of the bars. I picked up speed and swung into a pile of snow.”

Her stare moved toward the open blinds, as though she needed the escape. I knew that feeling all too well.

“I was yelling at him that we were going to be late, which would forfeit us a round. You know, the end of the world as a kid. He got tired of listening to me nag and bent his knees, getting ready to jump …” She pushed herself up from the chair and went to the windows, looking through the panes until she finally turned toward me. “He slipped and fell backward into the bars, where he hit his neck, dropping all the way to the ground, a spot full of rocks and gravel, no snow. When I couldn’t get him to respond, I screamed so loud, but no one heard me, so I ran to the closest house for help.” Her chest moved like she couldn’t catch her breath, her mind taking her to the playground—likely a place she mentally never left.

“I remember waiting for him to get out of surgery, pacing the hallway, praying, silently promising I would do anything if he came out alive.”

As the sun began to set outside, I saw the tears shimmering across her cheeks.

“Fourteen hours later, the doctor told us David was paralyzed from the neck down and that he wouldn’t ever walk again. He was discharged about a month later. I would go to school, but that was the only time I left his side—I fed him, bathed him, I did everything for him.”

I could see the rest of the story in her eyes, her pain slapping my chest.

“A month before my sixteenth birthday, he got sepsis and passed away.”

“Whitney …”

She shook her head, acknowledging my sentiment. “Being a nurse was never my dream, but losing David was what sent me to nursing school and then Mass General, caring for patients like him … and you.” She wiped her cheeks, her eyes immediately filling right back up. “You talked about reminders this morning. I have them, too, cases like David’s, day after day. It hurts, Caleb. It hurts something fierce, and sometime throughout all of this, I lost myself.”