I went to visit a friend in the hospital today. It was the first time I had been in that hospital since Bryan died. I wasn’t sure how that was going to turn out. Would I stop at the door and run screaming in the other direction? Would I even make it into the parking garage? What would happen if I ran into someone I knew? Bryan died here. I parked on the 4th floor which I never did during that month of February. I walked towards the hospital as I had done so many times before, through the doors, past the receptionist desk, and to the elevators. I kept thinking to myself, my husband died here. I found myself pressing the button for floor 2 instead of floor 3, where my friend was recovering. I walked down that familiar hallway, past the breakroom where I had gotten innumerable pitchers of ice water and had warmed up countless dinners. I walked through the automatic doors to the patient rooms. My husband died here. Nurses I didn’t recognize were at their portable stations, entering med information and vitals. I kept fighting the urge to just tell them, Bryan died here. Then I saw a familiar face. And she saw mine. She gave me the longest hug and huge, wet crocodile tears just poured out of me. I couldn’t thank her enough for what they did for Bryan. My life stopped for a while when Bryan’s life stopped, but in the meantime, all the doctors and nurses who had cared for him had a job to do. They had to care for the next patient who may or may not die on their watch. So often the patients do die and the last these tireless folks see of them is when the deceased are wheeled out of the room to make way for the next patient. We talked for a bit, she promised to let everyone know I came by. I felt my heart mend just a little bit more. I walked back to the elevators and went up to the 3rd floor.