Nicole took care of my husband in his final hours of consciousness, she arranged for all the machines to be removed from the room and directed me to where I could grab something to eat before resuming my vigil. When I returned, she had arranged for a recliner and warm blankets for me so I could be comfortable by J's side. We had hoped he would hold steady through the night and we could move him home for hospice care, his ardent wish. When the nurse came in, I emotion-vomited all my fears, feelings, and anxiety. She held my gaze and spoke to me with brutal honesty and compassion. Somehow she was able to reframe what I was experiencing with honesty, authority, compassion, and clarity. As she spoke, her eyes never wavering from me, I felt calm. My breathing slowed, my crying ceased, and I could center, take it all in, and finally turn back with strength to J and our final hours together. Later, when her shift was over, I saw her leaving; she caught my eye through the window and gave me a little wave. I hope she could see my eyes smiling as I waved back. I am certain she left having no idea of the pure gift she gave that night. She doesn't know how many times I have already revisited the moments together when I have felt the panic rising. My family's loss is immeasurable, so when I compound that grief for the more than a quarter-million souls lost in our country, I can hardly bear it. Today I am thankful for all the incredible doctors, techs, RTs, and nurses at UNMC that cared for J, especially his nurse.