The night Mom is put on hospice, I am on duty and she needs anxiety medicine. As her breathing slows and eyes droop, I count breaths, like a good nurse. Her death is not imminent. I am memorizing her. My fingers slip to her wrist. Warm, beating Braille. I tiptoe to the kitchen to place the neon pink form that is marked ‘Do Not Resuscitate’* on the refrigerator with a photo magnet of her smiling, standing tall. Something snags in my ribcage as I trace the three words, fingertip pulsing with the memory of her alive in the next room.
Nicole Peattie is a nurse by profession and a writer/photographer by passion. Every day, she walks to visit a bookstore cat named Max. nicolepeattie.substack.com Instsagram: @nicolemariedev