Cindy Diep Chu, RN

The ICU felt like a place where time didn’t move the same way anymore. Days blurred into nights, and everything became measured in quiet moments: beeping monitors, whispered conversations, the rise and fall of Mama’s chest. For four nights, my family and I stayed there with her, unwilling to leave, holding on to every second we could. In the middle of it all was Cindy. From the very beginning, she didn’t just walk into the room like a nurse doing her job; she walked in like someone who truly saw Mama. She spoke to her gently, even when Mama couldn’t respond.

One day, she brought in a hand-crocheted blanket she said had been blessed. Another time, she brought a scapular and placed it nearby, her quiet way of surrounding Mama with comfort, with faith, with peace. It never felt forced or routine; everything Cindy did felt intentional, as if she were honoring Mama as a person, not just a patient. She would sit with us, too. Not just in passing, but really sit. She listened as we told story after story about Mama’s laugh, her kindness, the little things that made her who she was. Cindy didn’t just nod politely; she remembered. When we mentioned how much Mama loved turtles, Cindy smiled in a way that told us she was tucking that detail away somewhere important. She even bought a copy of Mama’s book. She folded sticky notes into delicate little butterflies, recorded her heartbeat for us, and printed it out on paper so each of us had a copy.

When the time came, it felt both sudden and expected. We had talked to Mama, held her hands, told her everything we needed her to hear. And before she passed, we made one simple request: “Send us a sign that you’re okay, that you’re at peace. Let it be turtles.” Minutes after Mama passed, Cindy walked back into the room. She carried a bag and told us she had gotten something for Mama. In the bag were two stuffed animal turtles. Mama had sent us signs she was okay and at peace through Cindy. Cindy didn’t just care for Mama; she cared for all of us. She made sure we ate, reminded us to rest, and checked on us in the middle of the night while we tried to sleep in uncomfortable chairs. She held space for our grief without ever making it feel overwhelming. She carried us through something unbearable with a quiet strength and compassion you don’t forget. In the hardest moment of our lives, she was more than a nurse. She was comfort. She was kindness. She made sure Mama was surrounded by love until her very last breath and beyond. Cindy truly deserves this award. She gave Mama everything and more than she deserved, and we couldn’t be more thankful.