The Mafia's Nurse

Nursing (v.)

Chapter 1

Theo

I hate working Hospice. I don't hate a lot of things but I absolutely undeniably hate working Hospice.

"Ma'am," I whisper and place my hands on her shaking shoulders, "You need to let go," I try to pull her arms off of the body, but she stays latched on.

For those who do not know what Hospice is, it is the part of the Hospital where they can do nothing more for the patients but give them an easy, somewhat pain-free, death. It is where we send those we have tried everything but there isn't a way to help.

Sometimes broken things cannot be fixed and I hate it.

"Mrs. Staton, I'm sorry, but please move."

"My Boy," she sobs and holds the teenager's body in her arms, "My baby. No. No, not my son," she wails.

Yeah, I hate working Hospice.

This is Mrs. Sarah Staton, single mom of her 15-year-old boy and her only child, Micheal. Micheal died at 11:37 at night, and it is now 1 am. Mrs. Staton has not let go of him and has not stopped crying.

Once security gets her into the waiting room with her sister, I walk with both of them into the office of a hospital assistant director who will tell them what happens next.

He will say the following, "I am sorry for your lose. You can have him cremated or take his body for burial, but it will be extra money to transport him. Also, how do you plan to have these expenses paid off?"

Heartless. I know.

"This isn't how life is supposed to happen," Mrs. Staton's sister says as she cradles the sobbing mother, "A child shouldn't go before their parent. The world just shouldn't work like that."

The Assistant Director walks into the room and tells me I can leave. So I do.

I close the door trapping the cries of Mrs. Sarah Staton inside the 150 feet by 150 feet in square feet room.

Without looking back I make my way down the hall. Ignoring the repetition of machines and the sounds of mechanical breathing, I take a sharp turn down a hallway full of supplies and extra trama rooms. Finally I find the old grey door and push it open into the locker room. Before the door even closes I feel a sob escape my lips as I sink down onto the wooden bench in front of the shiny grey lockers.

With my elbows on my knees I barry my face in my hands, letting the hot tears run staining by green scrubs. Tears never seemed like the right way to say: I'm sorry I couldn't save them, I'm sorry you're hurting, that you're in pain.
I'm sorry. But crying reminds me I was still human. That I still sympathize, and this job will not take my heart.

I feel his arms around me before I him enter, without hesitation, I grab onto his shirt and sob into his chest. He gently runs his fingers through my hair and down my back letting me continue to cry.

"I'm sorry Theo. I know how much you hate covering for my Hospice shift," He says and I look from his board chest, straining my neck to even see his face. His height towering over me even as he sits, straddling the bench to face me.

"I-it's okay Landon," I stutter sucking in air to calm my breathing and taking slow steady breaths.

"No baby, I forget how much of a softy you are," He says and I feel his callused thumb wipe away the wet streaks on my cheeks.

"I'm not a softy," I mutter as he lets me go with a teasing smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry did I not just catch you sobbing in the locker room for the fifth time this month?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest,