Narrative

Narrative I took a walk to the post office to see if I had any mail after class one day in the September of 1918. To my surprise, a letter from my mother was waiting for me in my cupboard. That night after supper, I opened the manilla envelope and carefully unfolded the letter. Inside, it read,

Dearest Ester,

The entire family in Nebraska misses you greatly as you work in the Northeast. We want you to know that we are extremely proud of you for what you have accomplished. Your siblings are just as proud of you as your father and I are. How are you faring? Is it cold? I wish I could be there with you and see you home from schooling all day and working hard nights. Here in Nebraska, so much as changed since you left in for Harvard in July. Some of your friends have stopped by the farm after graduation and asked about you. They seem to be doing very well themselves, but cannot compare to you, if I say so myself! Your sister comes by around dinner sometimes and makes a great effort to be a part of this family. I am glad that Savannah is thoughtful enough to play with little Oliver despite her busy schedule. Next time you see your younger brother, you might not recognize him. He must have grown a few inches in the past month. You kids sure are growing up fast. As for John, there is still no word of him. We continue to keep an eye out for any sign of your older brother’s return. I know I won’t have to remind you to pray for his safety. Tree leaves on the trees are beginning to change colors now, Ester. I wish I could show you how lovely it is here. For now, take this drawing within this letter. Your little brother spent a long time drawing it just for you, so that you would not miss home terribly.

Love and prayers, Ma

When I finished reading the letter, I felt inside for the drawing, and sure enough, Oliver’s drawing of the leaves was present. It was a classic Oliver masterpiece. Ma was proud of his artistic talent as she was with each of her children. It was my compassion towards the sick that Ma liked about me. As I placed the letter into a draw and framed Oliver’s drawing on my desk, a knock sounded on my door. It was Doctor Carter, my mentor and professor. I whispered to him as I opened the door, “Good evening, Doctor. What could cause you to need me at such a late hour? Midnight is approaching.” “I’m terribly sorry for causing any concern by visiting you at such a late hour, but I need your help,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Three nurses quit today. I was given no warning nor reason from them about this issue, and now the hospital is shorthanded on staff. Can you work some night shifts? The university hospital offers to pay.” This arrangement sounded intriguing, but I was concerned at the suddenness. “But its only mid-September, and I haven’t received any official training yet for anything specific. I have only had four classes on giving medicine to patients. Do I qualify?” I ask. “Surely, this hospital would love to have you around to work with patients,” he replied as if stating an obvious fact. “After all, you seem to be very gregarious. Will you start tomorrow night if I help you with training?” “Sir, it would be my pleasure,” I answered. We wished each other a good evening and went our separate ways. I intended on writing Ma a letter telling her about my new job as an official nurse in a hospital so soon in since my start working, but it was getting late. I went to bed and prepared for classes the next morning. Throughout October, the head nurses in the ward taught me the skills I needed to know. English and arithmetic classes were still scheduled during some weekdays in the morning and I still had homework to complete for those classes. When I finished with homework, I spent some time eating a supper and tidying up my dorm. Between alternating nights, I would have a night shift at Harvard’s university hospital. It had doctors who ran the facility and students who helped as well. My schedule required me to work from 8:00 pm to 4:00 am, where I would then go back to my dorm for a short nap before attending classes in the morning. Getting enough sleep was the hardest part, but the toll of seeing the ill patients every day was on par. Some days, the sight of innocent people being miserable from whatever ailment was sickening to watch. However, the pay made the sleep deprivation and broken hearts worth it. I used the money to my expenses in university, or I sent some back home to support the family if they ever need it. The knowledge I learned was important, but it could not compare to the experience I acquired from working so soon in the hospital, tending to wounded soldiers that fight in the war, or patients of the Spanish Flu that swept the nation. At the end of October, the leaves in Boston turned bright orange in time for autumn. The scent of the crisp leaves mixed with the smells of ripe apple trees to draw attention to the bright red apples lining the foliage. The overall warm colors created a safe ascetic feel around the city as deep fall approached. The only thing missing was the sound of laughing children, jumping around in the leaves. When the government allowed us to venture outside into the streets, one could see the unmanned streets littered with dead leaves which built in untamed piles under bare trees. Boston became a ghost town, as did every major city in the country. The second wave of the great flu had killed a large portion of young adults and left everyone else scared of catching this disease. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Doctor Carter and I were enjoying a rare walk on the street one day when I asked, “Why doesn’t anyone come outside to enjoy the beautiful season?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Has no one told you yet?” He responded, shocked at my honest confusion. Was there an answer so obvious that I had been missing for all this time? Continuing, he said, “I thought you were already aware of this, but just before your freshman class arrived, there was a second outbreak of the Spanish Flu virus. And this happened in August. You’ve seen some patients with it where you work, do you not?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I had helped treat many cases of the Spanish Flu, as the head nurses call it. I had even studied about the Flu shortly in my academic courses, and knew many facts about treating it and symptoms. What I had absolutely no idea of was the fact that the most recent outbreak was as close as August, a time where I was at the heart of the pandemic. Had I been so unaware of the fact that I was in great biologic danger? Even at home in Nebraska, my family and I witnessed first-hand at how devastating this disease can be. It reached Nebraska in the Spring, and every hour, the sound of mothers crying as their young died sounded through the plains. Most importantly, towns were left deathly deserted, in which the church labelled a true phenomenon. This virus killed the most unlikely people. Those that looked strong and youthful, healthy and robust, adults ranging from 25 to 40, were the most susceptible. Some say that it is lucky that the babies and children were spared, as well as some of the elderly, but I think that this is not a fair statement. Everyone, no matter what age group, still caught the virus; no one was able to escape it. Too often, I recalled walking past patients as I helped the doctors around the ward. I saw many signs on their beds reading, “Spanish Influenza Patient”. Though though there were always cases where patients made full recoveries, many still died in the process of fighting the flu. Seeing doctors working so hard to cure people and failing makes my jobs around the hospital seem pointless and unproductive. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I thought back to the three nurses that quit, and in doing so, gave me the job that I had generously received from Doctor Carter. Their reason for giving up must have been in fear of the flu. Doctor Carter must have truly needed my help around. My train of thought was then abruptly cut short when I spoke up. I usually kept my thoughts reserved to myself, but in times of desperation or in moments of offering your undying servitude towards others, you speak your mind. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Doctor, had I known, I would have done more to…” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He interrupted, expecting what I was going to say. “ Ester, it’s alright. Just know to be more careful when working around here.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My heart raced as I proposed a gamble, “Will you mentor me around the flu ward?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Moments passed as he considered. I did not know what I had just done, but it would be a response that would change my life. He replied that he would do so, and I exhaled a sigh of relief into the energizing autumn air. Just when I turned to walk in the other direction, back to the dorms, he spoke again. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Are you aware of the statistics, Ester?” The seemingly haphazard jargon confused me. “Hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people have already died from Spanish Flu already. So do not take this lightly. Some in the scientific community estimate this to kill more and more people as time goes on. Are you prepared for the risks? You will soon see masses of people wheeled to their burials everyday, even from our hospital that seems so small right now.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I thought deep about his concern for me. I was somewhat touched at the thought, that I was so far away from home, and there was someone I could rely on if need be. “In high school, I read a paper about built up immunity. The book said that once a person had been exposed to a certain bacteria for long enough, they might decrease their level of susceptibility.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“While I in no way doubt your knowledge, you do have to keep your mind open. This is something unprecedented; we don’t know what to expect and you need to be careful.” Doctor Carter turned and entered the hospital’s doors. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Only after I actually started working seriously in the ward did I understand what Doctor Carter meant on our walk in the deserted streets of Boston. Soon after I was promoted to higher level duties, I was inundated with patients. Men were finally coming home from the Great War in Europe, wounded and disfigured in more ways than one. Some came in confused, and some paranoid. Those were taken down to the cellar levels to be further examined by other specialists. A large portion of the soldiers had limbs blown off or were physically worn from months of combat, while others had bullet holes throughout. But no matter who, all were covered in bloodstained bandages. The mentors and certified doctors had no option but to tend to the war soldiers. But at the same time, there were masses of other patients who were driven insane by an inner demon. The sound of coughing and signs of he influenza never stopped, which irritated most nurses who were in the same position as me. The regulated gauze masks did not improve the situation either. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“I am so frustrated,” whined a nurse in the same uniform as me. She worked three beds away from me as I tended to a young man who slept through the daytime chaos, another influenza patient. “I heard from my professor that the flu patients will be moving to another place in the hospital.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Another student volunteer asked the other girl, “Why would they do that?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“To make room for the soldiers coming in, of course.” Following the response, she said, “I don’t understand why all the soldiers had to come to Boston. Couldn’t they have chosen New York or some other place that isn’t as busy?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">At that moment, I left the conversation, for it faded into gossip. I gathered a basket of used bedsheets and took them to be washed downstairs. The nurse was right though, for in the following days, patients were transported to another wing of the hospital. It was dark and cramped there as line after line of patients filed into their designated rooms. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For a long time, only students were left in charge to care for every influenza patient admitted in the hospital. All the doctors were called to fix the heavily injured soldiers. When we had questions, the only people we had for reference were the slightly more experienced senior nurses, who they themselves were stressed with the responsibility of having no professional doctors. But from time to time, Doctor Carter would find the time to teach whatever he could to me. In that time, I saw hundreds enter the crowded wing of the hospital, and seemingly few leave healthy. The unfortunate sometimes were transferred to different hospitals, or straight to the death morgue if their prognosis seemed dim. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Schedules rotated between nights I worked at the hospital. The jobs I were responsible for were to make the patients’ stays less painful. I would begin my nights at the ward serving dinner to the people who still could stomach the meals. In the downtime when I waited for them to finish, I would catch up on reading, or do clean up the bedsheets. When the patients were finished with dinner, I walked around with the nightly medicine and when everyone took their serving, it was lights out. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">An influenza patient would require extra attention. With the hundreds of people that needed tending, I provided my share of work by performing simple test and record various results for the data to be used by doctors where curing the sick. But most of the time, doctors would be too busy to analyse the lengthy data, so we were given the responsibilities of treating the patients as need be. A new drug was on the market called Bayer Aspirin, and nurses were told to give these to patients who seemed to be in too much pain. I recorded how victims responded and this product didn’t seem to work well. The disease often ran its course. Clinical cases either ended up dead, in perfect health condition, or weakened for life. There were different stages to this disease, as I noticed and confirmed by various medical journals published. At this time, many newspapers covered this influenza outbreak alongside the war in its dying weeks. During my breaks, I would spend my time between regular conversations between the young man I cared for and reading as much as I could about the flu so that could know as much about the stages of the disease my patients were going through. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Spanish Influenza was captivating; for some unknown reason, this topic surrounded me with so many emotion. The power of the disease and its virulence scared me as I knew it had enough power to kill me. Death was a topic that was very moving for me in so many indescribable ways. Yet at the same time, I wanted to know more about the cure, and how to tend to the masses of people that seemed to catch the flu no matter where they hid or tried to escape it. The man that I remembered, the one who began to recover from the flu, began to keep me company during the down time I spent at the hospital. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“How do you feel?” I ask the man one day on a regular check-in. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He glanced at me. This was a usual routine for me, asking how they felt, writing this down, and reporting anything of concern. “I’m doing better, but I have been more fit.” Carefully, he sat himself upright, supported by the bed frame. “Nurse, have I seen you before?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Immediately, I responded, “Well, yes. While you were down with the flu, I attended to your needs. Perhaps I may seem familiar to you because I’m a student on campus and I work here some nights.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the midst of the nighttime rush, I scooted closer to lessen the din that bounced off the walls. This wing of the hospital was not large enough to house the many coughing, ill patients that needed more attention. The man told me his name was Noah. I told him my name was Ester. We chatted for some time before I went back to giving medicine out to the other patients. However, within that small time frame, we learned a lot about each other. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“I used to fight in the war, and I came out rather unscathed. In the beginning, my friends and I enlisted together. But in the war, we got separated. By the end of my contract, I still had contact with a couple of friends of mine. They resigned for another couple months, while I came back to Boston to settle down. When the August outbreak came, I caught it and had it every since. They say I’m a miracle to have lived with it for so long. Lucky me.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I laughed at the irony. Then, I reveal to him about my brother. Facts about our childhood spilled out as I told him about how John used to play with me down at the farm in Nebraska. Noah was a good listener as he was a talker, and I described somewhat cryptically at how John left for Europe a some years ago to fight. He kept getting relocated to different countries, yet still wrote letters. When I told him about the fact that one day, we stopped receiving letters from John, Noah reassured me that the mail carriers were slow in times of war. I agreed hesitantly to make him feel better, and got up from his cot. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Before I left, Noah said to me, “That’s strange, because some guys in the army are just like your brother. Gentle souls with great lives back home, yet chose to do what they are against because they have no choice but to fight.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With that, I left. Something about the last thing he said to me struck a chord. I know I should give up in the hopes that my brother is still alive, but I could not give up on John. Noah’s words seemed to gibe me a new-found hope that maybe, somewhere out there, John might be fighting in the war, helping the country secure the win. Noah had just taught me a very important lesson on having faith when all else failed. This was a new concept for me. As well, he made me look forward to working in the hospital at times, which always put a smile on my face when I most needed it. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Days passed and the routine stayed the same. I saw Noah once and that was it. He was walking around in his room, as if testing out his legs after a long period of time being bedridden. I began writing down notes for different influenza patients. I would record all the statistical information in that notebook down to the smallest of details. Steady trends emerged, concluding the fact that most died with in days. This was depressing to me, being surrounded by death. Something about it always bothered me. I remember as a child when Pa took me and John hunting for dinner. When Pa shot the deer, I would always cry uncontrollably, as if the death of the deer was the death of a family member. Pa did his best to comfort me, but it was as always that John would stop my tears. He explained the circle of life, and how we had to kill the deer in order to keep us alive, and the deer was happy to die for our family. John was always kind with words, and the day that he signed up for the military crushed me. How could someone so gentle fight amongst enemies targeted his life, with no regard for his little sister at home crying when Pa killed another deer? <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Excuse me, miss,” commanded a voice behind me. I turned and saw an old woman who then continued, “Could you give me my medicine for the day?” I looked down at the piece of paper in her hands that held the information I needed. As I shifted my eyes, something caught my gaze from the corner of my vision. It was Noah’s face in a small room. He was sleeping, but I had been walking though the intensive care unit. It was like the day I first met Noah, except this time, he was not recovering, rather, his condition was rapidly deteriorating. Politely, I sat the woman down and called over another student nurse to take over, and tugged on the door where Noah was. I rushed to his side and discovered that he was in deep sleep. Panicking, I searched for the person in charge of this wing. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My prayers were answered when Doctor Carter was there with a clipboard in hand. I rush to his side and desperately ask, “Doctor, this man’s name is Noah. Why is he here in the ICU?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Puzzled at my new found concern for a patient who I seemed to have no connection with, Doctor Carter answered, “He is an influenza patient, remember?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Yes, I know that,” I answered, slightly annoyed. “Noah was just in the recovery ward yesterday, showing no sign of illness at all. I even examined him with my own two eyes. Why was he suddenly put in here?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Doctor Carter pulled me aside where the seemingly unconscious patients would have even harder times trying to eavesdrop. “Listen to me. Recall the time that I told you this disease is nothing like we’ve seen before. Well, I was not lying, nor am I now. You see, most people that catch this disease go through the regular stages of a flu; soar throat, fever, then general weakness. The virus then takes them down two roads. Some of the people recover and gain immunity from this, which happens often in some parts of the world where they are lucky. Others on the other hand may catch secondary bacterial infection in the lungs. It is undisputed that the flu takes great tolls on the body. It weakens your lungs and damages tissues. Do you understand me so far?” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I nod my head and take a seat on a small stool seated next to Noah. Days of long nights were taking their toll on me. My body suddenly felt much heavier and weighed down. Doctor Carter continued. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“There are many types of bacterias that a person may catch, but the bottom line is that whatever type of bacteria infects the patient will definitely cause a severe case of pneumonia. In all my years as a Doctor, and with all that I’ve seen since the start of this pandemic, there is not one person that has survived the lethal secondary pneumonia. Noah is actually quiet a remarkable case; the virus lingered much longer than it was suppose to. Usually, cases like this only last a few days, at the most a week. I still don’t know why with Noah, he lived with it for months. But what we know now is that it has caught up to him.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It sank in. Noah, who I thought was so strong for coming so far, was going to die from the pneumonia. To think that I thought he had a chance of beating the odds unlike most people was silly. The reason why I hoped he would make it was because he reminded me so much of my brother, still missing somewhere. The chances of finding John again somewhere out there in the world is slim. But with Noah, someone that was like John in so many ways, was there in front of me. Losing Noah would be the equivalent of losing John over again. I would have asked Doctor Carter how long Noah had left, but given the many cases I had already seen since working here, I already knew the answer myself. Two, maybe three days in the case of secondary pneumonia patients. Rubbing my eyes gently, I could still see Doctor Carter making his way to the surgical ward to fix up the incoming soldiers. There were just so many soldiers that came in day after day; everyday, the masses of soldiers kept coming in in steady groups of hundred. It seemed like it would never stop, and the medical students would always have to run the flu ward by themselves. Truth be told, it seemed that student nurses were the ones who took care of every patient throughout the pandemic, not the doctors. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">During the course of my thoughts, Noah woke up to weakly blink his eyes at me. From the look in his eyes, he looked considerably weakened since the last time I saw him, walking around in his room. I could tell that he had enough knowledge that he knew he the end was near. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“How do you feel?” I questioned. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It took him a moment to respond, but he was able to feebly whisper, “I’ve been better.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I laughed at his ability to find humor in such a grim setting. It pained me to say it, but Noah had the right to know what the remaining of his life looked like. “Noah, despite the fact that you seemed to have been recovering like no one else, I’m afraid that you have a severe case of pneumonia. It is rapidly progressing inside you. Do not be alarmed, because everyone else with this disease in the world shows the same outcome.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">His frail eyes looked at me with a childlike innocence that only comes when a deep realization sinks in. A large weight pushed on his shoulders causing him to tire after few breaths. I laid him down on his back just when he used all his strength to say to me, “Ester, I want you to know that I am 29 years old. I had the rest of my life ahead of me but this is not the case anymore. Had I had more time, I would have chose to do something more meaningful with my life. There don’t seem to be many options left, so my final request is for you, and to you. If it would not bother you too much, I would like you to spend your time, for however long I have left, to document my case. Maybe someday, it will help some doctor somewhere, treat someone else who had to go through something like this.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">His request stuck me as the most selfless decisions I have ever seen. Not only did he accept death in the face, but he chose to make something positive out of the encounter. I wanted to ask him how he was able to cope so fast, but decided to nod and accept what he asked of me. After all, I owned him so much for every little thing he’s done for me, and how that has accumulated and left a defining impact on my life in such a short amount of time. It amazed me how something as simple as offering your time to accompany a person could have such a profound impact on someone’s life. There are lessons in life that can only be taught by someone special. This was yet another thing similar between Noah and John. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There was little I could do to help Noah at this point, as a cure for pneumonia was impossible. I opened my now worn journal to a new page that did not have the information of another patient on it. On that blank page, I wrote down his full name and birth date on as the first line. I dreaded the day where his life would have a mark of end. For the next three days, I documented the decline of his health in the interest of medicine, as instructed by Noah. When I would examine the notebook at the end, it was clear that his downfall was rapid, and his life was prolonged as it was. A black pen was in my pocket, and I took it out to begin writing notes. The date was November 9, and on that afternoon, Noah’s face was slightly pale. Blood was drained from his face, causing a lack of color. His breathing was steady, but sounded wheezy with difficulty between the breathes he passed. I wish there was a way to lessen the pain, but the proper thing to do was to let the disease run its course to prevent the spread of the disease, should Noah be exposed to other patients in the hospital. As I exited the newly familiar room, I could not help but think that with every time I entered and left, Noah would be closer and closer to death every time. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Early the next morning, I woke up with a knotted feeling in my stomach. Last night, I was able to ask for two days off from school to work on a case here in the hospital. The school kindly accepted this request and told me to take whatever time was necessary. In some ways, the university was using me as a source of free labor, tending to the needy patients of the hospital without having the requirement to pay me. But in other ways, I hoped that they understood the importance of this project to me and how much it meant off of a scientific level of work. The date was then November 10, 1918. I turned on the light to see that Noah was awake in his bed. Though he did not look particularly active, his eyes still had the special glimmer that was unique to him, a look that radiated kindness no matter how much difficulty his body had supporting the dying system. I pulled a stool up to him, and opened my notebook to his pages. Up close, I noticed that his face was tinted a slight blue, yet another sign of his body’s struggle to cling on to life. Only later did I find out from Doctor Carter that this was called cyanosis. It was caused by a lack of oxygen, primarily because Noah’s lungs were not fully functional, and as a result, he appeared blue. I wrote this down. From what I saw, it was clear that Noah was in a lot of pain. I did not want to tire him out from conversation, but he said to me using all his strength, “Never lose faith. Believe. ” His body then began to convulse in a series of violent coughing, his entire frame rocked uncontrollably. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“Do you need help breathing?” I asked him as I tried to soothe the tremors. He nodded his response, and I searched for a devise that could assist him in breathing. I found a prototype of an oxygen mask that some engineering students had been working on and connected Noah to the breathing apparatus. Troubles in breathing persisted from the way his chest rose and fell only slightly, but it lessened the effort it initially took. I continued to take measurements for my notebook, like his pulse and vital signs. I talked to Noah to keep him company, pouring out stories I knew from memory, until he fell asleep. I wrote even more notes on his condition, and I noticed that the sound of water came from his lungs. Water gurgled faintly, and this must have meant that some fluid filled his lungs. He would not make it any longer from here, and I new the end was near. I walked out of the the eerily serene room and said goodnight to Noah. When my shift finally ended, I went to a spare room in the hospital and spent the night there. It was important for me to be there for Noah’s final moments. He deserved at least that much. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On the morning of November 11, I began to roam the halls of the hospital. I thought about Noah too much to sleep. Fate lead me outside to where I saw a flash in the midnight darkness. It was a little boy, age six or so carrying the newspapers, hot off the press. I had to know what was going on at such a late hour, so I ran to meet him. He threw me a copy and screamed with bliss, “The Great War is over! Tell everyone you know!” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It a second, I opened to the front page and the headline confirmed this. President Woodrow Wilson had signed the Treaty of Versailles and World War I was over. Four years of history ended and another began, with the United States of America being the new victors. I hurried to tell Noah more than anyone else. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Inside, he was awake, though his eyes were hollow. The moment I entered, his eyes sparkled for a fraction of a second, and I sprawled the paper open for him to read.

<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Treaty signed in Versailles Ends the First World War

<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“It’s over,” I said breathing a sigh of relief and smiling so brightly. My thoughts jumped around and landed on John. I wondered how he would react if and when he found out wherever he is in the world. My thoughts immediately jumped back to this conversation with John. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Noah smiled back, and I went to hug him. Sitting down on the end of his bed though, I could feel that he could not hold on any longer. This matter at hand was much more important than that of some war. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was quiet, and his voice was weak, but I could make out his last words. “Trust yourself when there’s nothing left to do.” <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">All my training had prepared me the most it could have for this very moment. Noah was on his way to heaven. I knew this because he there was no possible way he could commit sin. If any thing, he deserved heaven more than anyone else I knew, even my family whom I love dearly. As reality gradually sank in, I gripped Noah’s hands for a final time. In that moment, I could faintly hear fireworks in the distance. How appropriate, I thought. Noah’s soul would ascent to heaven, guided by angelic lights to celebrate his life and existence on earth, and a world war that has touched so many. Noah was slowly slipping away, getting closer and closer to the point of no return. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“I love you.” My final words to Noah were pure as I looked him in the eyes for the last time. They were meant with the intentions of however you would say this to a family member. I truly considered Noah as a loved one for his presence in my life for such a short time period. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Noah closed his eyes softly for the final time, like the leaves falling off trees in the still air on the day Doctor Carter and I had the walk. That day changed my life as it was the day that allowed me the opportunity and position to meet Noah. November 11, 1918 was also a turning point in my life. I held my two fingers on Noah’s warm neck. It was still, and soon it would be stone cold. There was no time for tears, and I stood up from the end of the cot. I kissed Noah’s forehead one last time, and pulled the white bed sheet over his face. Another nurse would find him and take care of his body. It did not seem proper for me to do this. I turned off the light in his bed and said to Noah with all my heart, “Thank you.” I have never meant something so true and wholeheartedly as those final two words I said to Noah. This was also the first time I did not cry when someone died. There are times when the only thing to do is think about how much a person is worth to you through quiet reflection. Though he never did anything miraculous, the little things Noah did meant so much. Later that night, I opened to the final page in my journal and added the day that Noah died; November 11, 1918. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the months following Noah’s death, Spanish Flu continued to wreak havoc on the country until it ran its full course by 1919. In the meantime, I continued to go to school. Before April came around, I finally had time to write my mother a letter.

<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Dearest Ma,

<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is Ester writing to you informing you about my time in university. Campus and schooling are wonderful, and I have learned so much here in such a short time. However, it is working at the hospital that has made the most impact on me. I work at the influenza ward, tending to patients with cases of Spanish Influenza. Do not worry, I will not catch the virus. My mentor and professor, Doctor Carter, is incredibly kind and intelligent, not to mention patient. He is helping me learn my way working around the hospital in whatever time he has. There are so many wounded soldiers coming home since the war ended, and people like Doctor Carter need to help them first. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I met a young man named Noah, who is the most selfless person I have ever been blessed to met. He died the day the war ended. Before you get concerned about “placing trust in a stranger’s hands,” I want you to know that you would have loved Noah. He was like John in many ways, in that he was incredibly noble and considerate. He lived with the the virus for too long, and when he got pneumonia shortly after, his life was taken away from him. I met him one day when I was tending to other patients, and we started talking. He said that he thought he knew me in a past life, and we conversed regularly from then on. He also kept me company during my shifts, teaching me many life lessons along the way. In his last days, he asked me to take explicitly detailed notes on his condition, so that he could have a lasting impact in the world. I fulfilled his request and now my journal means so much more to me. When I come home in the summer, remind me to show the family. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Say hello to Oliver for me, and Savannah whenever you can. I love you, mom and dad. Do not worry, I am well.

<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yours Truly, <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ester

<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">That summer, I went home and showed my parents the journal. They were interested in many aspects of it, such as my notes about the numerous cases I dealt with. But they did not understand the impact Noah’s case had on me. His memory will live in this small notebook forever. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To this day, I still have hope for my brother. Noah taught me that there’s still hope that he is out there. I like to think that Noah is searching for John with me in heaven, where there is a gorgeous view looking down than it is looking up. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It is 7:30pm as I walk towards the post office and hospital to deliver the letter and begin another night shift.