Tiny colored lights.

418 August 2014 Anesthesiology, V 121 • No 2 418 August 2014 IIn the Neuro/Trauma ICU, the patients were arranged like artwork. Statuesque figures projected their sculptured, angular images in a gallery of haloed subjects suspended in animation. Some were conscious, and some were elsewhere. On this particular dreary day in December, I noticed a group of family members—a mother and two daughters—walking past me, crying. Their faces were red with track marks from their tears. The youngest daughter, a teenager, had a decidedly sullen look in her eyes and clenched fists. She grimaced as I walked by her. The trio attracted pity, yet florid fear. What if whatever THAT is happens to me? A cold, icy stillness and panic settled inside my chest. Later, I learned these girls were saying goodbye to their father who had been in an accident and on ventilator support. Their mother, who had long ago divorced him, still cared for him in some way. She was here. The entire family was mourning. This was an average Tuesday in the unit.