They're the ones dying...

Recording a trauma...motorcycle accident, no helmet. His injuries severe, prognosis bleak. Recording blood transfusions, medications, injuries. Hardware sticking out of his arm from previous surgeries, swollen left eye, the doctors looking at him, shaking their heads. Just another patient.

Until I hear he is related to so-and-so, and with a sinking heart I hear he's related to people I know, and my dad even knows him, and so on, and he's not another patient; he raised so and so, and these broken arms cradled her, and those eyes looked down on her as he gave her away, and suddenly it's so much harder to leave him behind as I walk out the ambulance doors. He stays with me, days later, as I watch her Facebook updates, and my heart is heavy with sorrow and prayers.

I don't want to know relationships. I don't like knowing the details of who they know. Montana is way too small. It's so much easier when there is no relationships, when they are an unknown person.

My heart aches, and my prayers go out to him. God knows what is best for him; the x-rays stick with me. If he makes it, he has a hard, long road ahead of him. Part of me wants him to go in peace, but then I think of her, and God, what would I do if that was my dad? I would want him to fight with everything he has, because I can't picture life without him.

I hate that life is so fragile. I hate that it changes in a split second. I hate that we can't control it.