Health and Wellness: Renew Your Strength for Every Shift
Join us for faith-based nursing support; a place to connect and find resources
Our Mission
Our mission is to empower nurses to approach each shift with calm, clarity, and confidence, grounded in faith, by providing daily support, practical guidance, and encouragement for their professional and personal growth.
Community Stories
The Midnight Traveler, Not Alone
"Thank you for reminding me why I do this"
"Thank you for reminding me why I do this"
As a travel nurse, patients turn into numbers and feelings of being temporary creep in. Working nights, my shift consisted of tiptoeing down the halls and keeping to myself in my solo nurses station. Night shift is a way of life, a marathon of silence and dark circles under the eyes. I thought I was alone in my patients room as I set up the bath and pulled the curtain. While I was washing up my “brain dead” patient, the corner of my eye revealed a tremor. I looked to see what the movement was and it was my quite patient, squeezing the air between their hand. As this was my last shift at this assignment, I never found out if the patient made it or not. In the stillness of the night, I took this as a gesture saying thanks for taking care of me. Even when you think you’re alone, there may be a new friend that quietly makes their way into your life.
"Thank you for reminding me why I do this"
"Thank you for reminding me why I do this"
"Thank you for reminding me why I do this"
There’s a certain silence that fills the room after a resident passes — and it’s not something you ever really get used to. It’s not loud, it’s not dramatic — it’s just there. Heavy. Still. It hits you in a way words can’t really describe. Just a few days ago, we were talking like normal. Laughing, sharing stories, cracking jokes, and talking about their young days. They were smiling, full of life in that moment. I didn’t know that would be our last real conversation. I wish I had. I probably would’ve stayed a little longer. That’s one of the hardest parts of being a nurse — you never know when it’s the last time. When I walked into their room that morning, I could feel it. The air was different. Their breathing had changed. Every nurse knows that feeling — the quiet shift that tells you their body is letting go. I held their hand, said their name, and just sat there as I said, “I am going to keep you comfortable. You are safe.” Sometimes that’s all you can do. People think you eventually “get used to it,” but you don’t. You just learn to carry it differently. You tell yourself they’re not in pain anymore, that they’re finally at peace — but a part of you still aches. Because you remember their laugh. Their kindness. The way they trusted you. You miss them. They don’t teach this part in nursing school. They teach you how to save lives, how to document, how to give meds — but not how to say goodbye to someone you’ve grown to care about. Not how to go home after your shift and still feel the weight of it on your heart. But even with the sadness, there’s a strange kind of peace that comes with it too. Being there at the end, making sure they weren’t alone, that they were comfortable and cared for — it’s an honor. It really is. When I drove home that day, a beautiful rainbow appeared over the river. I smiled and whispered a quiet “thank you.” Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for your stories. Thank you for reminding me why I do this. Because even though it hurts, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Share your Story
Code Calm
Blog
Subscribe
Sign up for new content notifications and free resource guides.
This website uses cookies.
We use cookies to analyze website traffic and optimize your website experience. By accepting our use of cookies, your data will be aggregated with all other user data.