My first job as a nurse was on the oncology floor.  Wanting to go into hospice this seemed like a logical step as death visited our floor frequently.  Often times when someone was near passing the other nurses would request my presence knowing I had an unusual comfort level during this transition. So I began my intimate relationship with Azrael, the Angel of Death.

One woman who died had a friend at the bedside who loved her dearly.  The friend was distraught and cursed God and the unfairness of life as she watched her slip from our world into the next.  I held her in her tears and anger and tried to assure her that she would be given a sign from the deceased that she was okay.  Through her tears she looked at me with disbelief but hung onto that shred of hope that one day, somehow she would know that her dearly departed friend was somewhere safe and happy.

Fast forward nine months later I hear my name being frantically called through the hallways of the oncology floor.  When I turned I saw this very same woman whose smile told me everything before her words did.  She hugged me and said that she indeed had gotten a sign.  Her friend had an old clock that had not worked in years but had left it on the shelf because it was so pretty.  It had chimed and began to work marking the exact hour of the time of death nine months earlier.  She was certain it was a sign from her friend and when she asked out loud for verification- the clocked chimed again! She could not wait to share this wonderful moment with me! I held her and smiled, knowing that although her grief was still fresh this sign gave her hope of love that spans worlds.  Truly the bonds of love are never broken.