It was hard watching someone you love’s family die. She accepted the death that was coming. Her husband’s grandmother. The fight against the cancer. The hope. The denial. The bargaining. The defeat. The acceptance. She watched as every member of his family went through the stages of grief in their own way. She would hold in front of the family. While he openly wept she would stand stoically by his side, a comforting arm around him. She was the professional. She would stay during the hospice time and change the bed. He had pulled her aside and asked her point blank if the breathing pattern his grandmother had was known as a death rattle. She had admitted it was. But it wasn’t until the middle of the night that she would turn to him crying.