I believe there is a soul

I had never unfeignedly thought often ab out(a) a soul until my hold with hurricane Wilma. As the medical Director of Hospice by the Sea, my pop music has to gravel at hospice whenever on that point is a hurricane watch. In October of 2005 I athletic supportered bunch up clothes; a cooler with irrigate and drinks; and a duffel bag with a bunch snacks because my m early(a), brother, and I were staying at Hospice for the storm. We arrived slice it was still clear, plainly windy. I helped impart the supplies up the rage at the patients juggle and into S101, usu entirelyy a patient room.My male parent started his rounds, writing invests for all 60 patients. just about were elderly; some(a) very woolly-headed; while others, felicitous to talk. As dinner party was approaching, I helped modification the food trays. An older gentle homo with pancreatic cancer in S103 near the boarded window, valued to talk for a while since he had no family staying with him. We joked and talked football and, as I got up to put up, he said, See you in the morning for breakfast.The door was locked as the aluminium hurricane shutters were rolling down over it. The informant kicked in, leaving the halls and populate in an out-of-the-way dusk-like glow. That evening at about 10 pm, I truism my dad leave the room with a nurse to approximate one of the patients in S103. I followed nervously and realized it was Mr. ____ who I was to meet for breakfast. My dad listened first to his heart, and then his neck, finally rise his eyes and imperativeness down on them gently. No movement. articulate at 10:04 pm, he announced. The funeral domicil pickup couldnt come out in the storm. The man was large and the nurses indispensable help to break the body. My father, a nurse, and the chief operating officer of Hospice pitched in to help. The nurse pulled his IV. I pushed him on his human face to slide the thickened paper infra him, and then rolled him b ack. I lifted his head to help with the black ductile body bag. It was zipped up and the tag with his do was attached to the bag. at that place was no prolonged any joking in that room. Solemnly, he was rolled onto a backboard then lifted onto the gurney. thither was no life. Something was missing. Something inaudible had left him and he was no thirster what he had been. It was hard to think of him other than as a large mass. I knew we were taught about the motif of a soul. That wickedness I precept for myself that it did exist. His Soul had left.If you take to get a full essay, order it on our website:

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