Are You Okay?
A reflection on collective grief and moral distress; written to honor a life lost, and to consider how values like care, courage, and responsibility are worthy of our continued effort.
Are You Okay?
This is a moment of moral distress.
Healthcare workers know it well. It’s the feeling that settles in when our values are violated and we know what should have happened and instead witness harm. This is one of those moments.
We are trained to navigate complexity. Our work is to stay regulated and attentive:
Calm enough to listen
Open enough to care
Steady enough to act —especially in moments of fear, conflict, and uncertainty.
Today my words are directed to my fellow healthcare workers, but this instinct belongs to everyone. This is human work. This is how we take care of one another.
Are you okay?
Words we use so often in caregiving. Words all humans long to hear in moments of distress, across differences, beliefs, and identities. These were Alex Pretti’s last words. And it should never cost someone their life to show up this way.
If you were to close your eyes and imagine the words you would most want to hear in a moment of fear or pain… this is it.
Are you okay?
In healthcare, we are taught to respond to needs and to prevent harm. What happened represents a profound moral injury, not only to his family and colleagues, but to our shared sense of safety and care, and responsibility to one another.
He may have been trained to run towards suffering with skill and a calm mind, but what we witnessed was not training alone. He understood there was risk, and he showed up anyway, committed to helping people in a moment of community distress. His instinct was to protect and support, not abandon others in a time of need.
What shocked a nation into mourning was not what he was trained to do.
It was who he was.
And that is how values are passed on. I learned he was a preceptor and teacher to new nurses finding their way in high-acuity environments. He reminded them to care for themselves, to spend time in nature, and to keep coffee and candy close. Small, human gestures that helped them keep going. This was part of his legacy, long before his final assignment.
What remains is not closure, but reverence and obligation.
Organ donation is often described as an intentional act —something given so life can continue. I hold this next part as a metaphor with care. What happened was not chosen. And yet, something has been transferred. The qualities of his care, courage, compassion, and the instinct to help now remain with us as an unchosen inheritance, one we are responsible to carry forward.
We will continue imperfectly, and sometimes broken, to listen deeply, act with discernment, and keep humanity at the center of our care. This will not be easy work. But it is necessary work.
We will not forget his bravery.
We will not normalize what should never be acceptable.
And we will carry forward what he stood for.
Signed,
An ICU nurse
