My least favorite day of my life was the first time I found a resident dead in her bed. It got that much worse when having to call the daughter and inform her that her mom had just passed away. "What do I say? How do I start that conversation?" She answered super cheerfully and I just went silent. She knew. I sat there speechless while she sobbed on the other end, asking what to do next.
The night my favorite got put into bed for the last time, was the last time she was lucid. Hillarie came in and we sat on the floor laughing at everything she said for almost an hour. Suddenly "the favorite" starting crying and driving the importance to make sure her family understood how proud she was. She couldn't stop telling us how much she loved them. When I handed her tissues she grabbed my hand and said "Make sure you tell them. Make sure they know I love them. You need to promise me Miss!" 13 hours later I found myself surrounded in the hallway telling 4 children and in-laws the conversation from the night before. 2 days later I got a call and shortly after found myself at work, doing post-mordem care.
Even when you know it's someone's time to go, it doesn't get easier.
For awhile it helps comfort you.
Whether it's hours, months, years, days or weeks...
You hear yourself talking about how good it'll be for them to finally be happy and peaceful.
But then that day comes and all of a sudden you don't care about what's best for them anymore.
You just miss them.