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gripped my elbow more tightly. “I know it’s hard when your first patient dies—”
    At that the tears started, followed by an outright sob.
    â€œBut you’ll be done with your coursework in a week anyway,” she added softly in an attempt to make me feel better.
    I wiped my eyes, saying, “I just didn’t expect her to die.” Another round of sobs overtook me.
    â€œI know, Izzy. But it happens in this work all the time. If you can handle that, well…” Her voice trailed off, and then she added, “You learn to expect it, even in the healthy ones. That’s part of what being a professional caregiver is all about.”
    Our very first lesson in the program had been on being a professional—and right now I was being the exact opposite of that. “I’m s-sorry,” I stammered.
    â€œIt’s all right. Go to the break room for a few minutes, get ahold of yourself, and then finish out your shift.”
    With a nod I made my way down the hallway, shielding my face with one hand as I continued to cry. Instead of going to the break room, where I was bound to run into someone, I headed for the double doors to the breezeway, aiming for the conference room, expecting it to be empty.
    As I opened the door, a realization overcame me. Obviously, I wasn’tmade for caregiving. Another sob erupted from me as I staggered through the door, only to come face-to-face with my instructor.
    With a look of dismay on her face, Patricia said, “For heaven’s sake, Izzy, what happened?”
    I managed to respond that Phyllis had died.
    â€œOh, dear,” she said, putting her arm around me. “And you’re taking it this hard?”
    I nodded. “I don’t know why,” I sniffled.
    â€œSit down. I’ll get you some water.”
    As she left the room, I put my head in my hands. I wanted to call Daed and ask him to come get me. There was no reason to finish the training. What if Mimi died next? I couldn’t take that, I really couldn’t.
    Patricia returned with a bottle of water and asked if it was my first time to be close with someone who died.
    â€œI took care of a man several years ago who lost his life to cancer.” Zed’s father, Freddy, to be exact. I hadn’t actually been present when he’d passed, but then again, I hadn’t been present when Phyllis had either. Another sob caught me by surprise.
    I put my head back in my hands.
    Concern filled Patricia’s voice as she patted my back. “What can I do for you?”
    I took a raggedy breath. “Could I use your phone?”
    â€œOf course,” she said, digging in the pocket of her smock and then handing me her cell.
    As I dialed the number of our phone, located in the barn around the corner from where Daed did his woodworking, I prayed he wasn’t using one of his power machines so he would be able hear it.
    It rang and rang, ten times. Thinking the answering machine was about to come on, I began to ready myself to leave a message when a boy’s voice said, “Hello?”
    â€œStephen?”
    I could barely hear my brother as he said, “ Ya .” He was eleven and home from school already.
    â€œGo get Daed .”
    I held the phone to my ear for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Patricia said, “Izzy, I can take you home if you want.”
    I shook my head. That was the last thing I wanted.
    Finally Daed came on the line and I told him I needed a ride earlier than expected. The care center was only a few miles from our house. He’d been transporting me both ways each day.
    In a soft voice he asked, “So soon?” Then, intuitive as ever, his voice became even quieter as he added, “Izzy, what happened?”
    I swallowed hard, fearing another sob was going to escape. “I’ll tell you when you pick me up.”
    I handed Patricia back her phone. “ Danke ,” I said, my face growing warm as I