Nomadic Nurse Diaries

I can hardly believe you’re gone. It’s like the world lost a little of its light, and I feel that emptiness everywhere. You were my mentor, my chosen “work mom,” and a force of nature packed into a small, unstoppable frame. You taught me so much more than nursing; you taught me how to live and care and work with a drive that I only hope I can carry forward. There will never be another you.

You were a true inspiration—a little Korean woman with the strength of a giant (okay, maybe not physically, but that’s where I came in when your patient needed a boost), the stubbornness to face anything head-on, the wisdom of someone who’d seen it all, and the heart of a healer.

I remember every time you’d tell me, “I’ll retire next year,” and I’d smile because deep down, I think we both knew you’d keep going. The ICU was supposed to be your retirement, and yet, you worked harder than anyone, somehow finding the time to check on every patient, even the difficult ones, with such energy and conviction.

You were my Energizer Bunny, always moving, always giving. And when I’d marvel at how you never slowed down, you’d laugh that incredible, genuine laugh and say, “I’ll retire someday.” Maybe you knew something none of us did. Maybe when you said “retirement,” you knew it would come in a different way. You faced lymphoma silently, privately, without letting us know, and in doing so, you gave yourself on your terms.

You told me stories of your life in Korea—the dancer, the fashion design student who somehow ended up in America, raising a family, becoming a pediatric NP, and then later a guardian angel in the ICU. And yet, even while caring for your own family, even while doing all that, you always had time for me, always making sure I knew there was more to life than work, more than marriage, more than being anyone’s anything. You wanted me to find my own path, unburdened by expectations. You’d give me that look—stern but kind, with all the love and wisdom in your eyes—and say, “There’s so much more to life, don’t waste it.”

It was such a privilege, Liz, to be in your world. We never knew your true age, and I think that’s just one more way you kept a part of yourself for you. There was so much we never knew, but that’s how you were, and we loved you for it. For all the things you shared, and for the pieces you kept.

Thank you, Liz, for being my mentor, my friend, my work mom, my inspiration. I love you deeply, and I miss you more than I can say. You will always be a part of me. I will carry forward the lessons you taught me and the wisdom you shared, and I will try to live with even a fraction of the heart and dedication you had.

Until we meet again,

I love you.