She helped people die. Or maybe you’d say she helped them transition to the other side—whatever that means. She’s not a big believer in “the other side.”

Either way, she’s been helping people pass away for a long time. She has seen more death than most.

She’s a veteran nurse. She’s been in the business of end-of-life care for over 30 years. As a result, almost nothing startles her anymore. And if she’s being honest, she admits that she’s a little jaded, too. Maybe even cynical about the business sometimes. Bureaucrats.

But what she saw last Tuesday did affect her. In fact, she says it sort of changed her.

As she administered meds to the old man, making idle small talk, something occurred.

The old man was near the end when he saw someone in the room.

There is nothing unusual about this. It happens all the time. Dying people see deceased loved ones in empty rooms. They’ll have elaborate conversations with a great-grandma. Or they’ll see a miscarried baby, all grown up, sitting in the corner, smiling. Whether these are hallucinations or not, she has learned to just go with it. It’s part of the job.

The brain does strange things when it’s in the process of dying.

“I see a woman,” the old man said.

“Is that right?” she said, still checking his oximeter.

“Yes, it’s a woman. She is standing behind you.”

The nurse glanced behind her and saw nobody.

“Really?” she said absently, going about her work, making notes on her iPad.

“She looks a little like you,” he said.

“Okay,” said the nurse vacantly, checking his pulse again. “What a hottie she must be.”

The old man muttered. “She has brown hair. She says her name is Carol.”

The nurse stopped. She stared at him.

The old man said, “Carol is talking to me. She’s saying something now.”

The nurse was all ears. “What’s she saying?”

“She wants me to tell you that she loves you,” the old man said. “She also says you did the right thing. She’s proud of you. Don’t doubt yourself.”

There were tears in the woman’s eyes now.

“She said that?” the nurse replied.

“Yes.”

One week earlier, the nurse left her husband. He had been abusive to her and her teenage daughter. When she finally mustered the courage to leave, her self-doubt was almost too much to bear. She kept wondering if she’d done the right thing. She kept asking this question to the sky.

“She also says that she likes the new apartment,” said the old man. “You’ll be happy there. Everything is going to work out.”

Only a few nights ago, the nurse had put money down on a two-bedroom apartment. This was going to be the biggest step she had ever taken in her life, venturing into the realm of single-motherhood. She hadn’t told anyone about it. Not even her daughter.

“She also says not to worry,” the old man said. “She says she’s watching out for you. She’s always with you. She’s always protecting you.”

When the nurse was finished with work, she quietly left the old man’s house.

She stood on the porch with her wet face in her hands. Her body was covered in gooseflesh.

Her coworker was doing paperwork in the car, idling in the driveway. When she saw the nurse crying, her coworker came to her.

“What’s wrong?” the coworker asked.

“Nothing,” the woman said. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“My mom.” The nurse wiped her eyes. “She died when I was eight. Her name was Carol.”