It was the farewell party for my wife Anna, as she retired after more than two decades as a Registered Nurse, and eleven as a staff nurse on the Neurology Floor of a Midwestern Medical Center. About thirty were present, mostly other nurses, with a scattering of other medical professionals. I would estimate two-thirds were nurses Anna had mentored or orientated.

I could actually feel the sadness that hung over the rooms of the Victorian home, belonging to the floor’s Nursing Manager, and her professor husband. But, more than sadness, I could see the unbelievable love and respect these people had for dear Anna, their beloved. Really.

They represented a real cross section of the human race--white, Hispanic, black, a mixture of both; gay, straight; blue collar, white collar, professional; male, female; young and middle-aged; from all over the US, and foreign lands. One thing they held in common was love and gratitude for what Anna had come to mean to their lives. They had come to pay tribute to what they felt was a very rare person, one you do not meet very often in your lifetime.

They looked at her with sadness, of course, but also with awe. I also sensed they could not accept or believe the time had come for beloved Anna to retire and move west to be with her family and grandchildren. This was it. There would be no more of Anna’s presence among them.

As the evening drew to a close, the time came to say the final goodbyes. This is when the room grew quiet and hushed, as each person took their turn embracing Anna, kissing her, and telling her how much they appreciated her love. As I watched, I found I could not take it emotionally, and had to escape to the kitchen to speak with the Nursing Manager’s husband, who was the chef for the evening. Then, back I went, only to find that several were finding it very difficult to leave. Of course, Anna was crying her eyes out, as she fondly looked each one in the eyes to say goodbye.

It seemed like forever until only Linda and Dan, the hosts, Anna, and myself were left. Linda, tears streaming down her cheeks, thanked Anna for being the one person who, by her words and actions had been such a role model for so many new and young nurses. We quietly left the Near East Side of Columbus, and traveled North to the suburb we were about to leave for the Pacific Northwest.

The next day, I happened to read, “Forever,” the spiral book of hand written tributes and farewells from those at the party, and those who couldn’t make it. There were forty-two in all, some which brought tears to my eyes, and caused me to sob with pride.

“You have made such an impact on this unit.” “What will we do without you?" “Every time I resolve to try and be a better person, I always hold you up as my role model.” “8 North will not be the same without you!” “You are the greatest. I am very glad that you precepted me. You have the patience and the expertise to train any and every nurse. I will never forget the great person that you are.”

“I have never met anyone with more compassion.” “You are the true meaning of the word nurse.” “I get a lump in my throat every time I think of you being gone. I truly feel greedy wanting you to stay. How lucky your family is to be having you near finally.”

“I feel as if I have grown up with you by my side. You have been so many people in my life. My mentor, peer, friend, mother, grandmother. When you are here, our day seems a lot smoother. Being around you has always given me a peaceful feeling.”

“The impact you have on this floor is outrageous.” “FOR GOD’S SAKE, DON’T GO!" We can’t survive without you!” “To let you know how much you mean to us would be next to impossible. And to let you now how much we are going to miss you would be even harder.” “Anna, one of the best things I can say about you is you bring out the best in others.” “More than any one I’ve ever seen, you have the ability to change lives. Be assured your spirit will always be with us.”

On the phone several days later, I was trying to relate to our youngest son, Jeff, what I had heard, seen, and read about his Mother. All I could say was, “Your Mother was like God to them.”

Is this how God wants us each to be? I think so. No, I know so.