Nine days after the birth of my second child, while my mother came to help me with my newborn, she suffered an arrhythmia and immediate cardiac arrest. She was revived by EMS and admitted to the Rex MSICU where she stayed for three weeks before she was transferred to the 4th floor, and then to hospice where she passed away.

It was her time in the ICU that was the most tenuous and most fraught with a roller coaster of emotions. For weeks, we thought my mom might “wake up.” Every day, my brother, dad, and I tried not to seem overeager each time a doctor, nurse, or specialist entered her room. We tried desperately to decipher medical jargon and piece together what all this meant for my mother’s chance of recovery.

Immediately, I liked T, who took wonderful care of my mom. Dr. M was warm and welcoming and gracefully managed our expectations. She gave us hope, which was crucial to our sanity. S was so attentive, and we knew we were always in good hands with her. T was especially thoughtful in making sure I had everything I needed, as I was having to pump while I was away from my newborn all day. God Bless all of these amazing women.

But of all our nurses, Jamie had the incredible gift of extreme empathy, efficiency, and attentiveness. More than anyone else, Jamie treated my mother like my mother. Not just another patient. Jamie brushed my mother’s hair after it had grown oily and matted to her skin. She picked out the glue from the EEG. Jamie gave Mom “a spa day,” where she wiped my mother’s face, which had grown sweaty and oily, with a damp rag; tended to her dry, cracked lips; and washed her hair. These are little things, but they would have made my mother feel incredibly special, even in the worst of times.

I could see, just through the look in Jamie’s eyes, that she understood my mother had a history, a robust and active life that she’d simply exited when her heart went into overdrive. Her clothes were folded in the suitcase as she left them, and the muffins she’d made were still cooling on the counter. One day, Jamie just popped in to check on us. She wasn’t even assigned to my mom’s room but saw me in there and just wanted to see how we were doing. The importance of her kindness, patience, and empathy cannot be overstated.

Watching spirits recede and bodies fail may be part of the job for those working in the ICU: a career that deserves the utmost respect and probably a pay raise. To us, her family, watching my mother deteriorate was the cruelest, most devastating experience of my life. We were so lucky that someone like Jamie was taking care of her, our matriarch, and North Star.

I just want to thank Jamie from the bottom of my heart. The way she treated my mom will stay with me forever, and I want her to know how much her work means to us and, I’m sure, to many other families.