During my second week on my second placement in a trauma ward, I experienced something that has stayed with me ever since; performing 'last offices' for a patient who had been placed on an end-of-life pathway the previous week. Until that day, I had only experienced bereavement once in my personal life, and death had always felt like something distant, unfamiliar, and almost abstract.

While working alongside my practice assessor (PA), we happened to walk past the patient’s room and noticed they were taking what my PA gently described as their “final breaths.” Moments later, the doctor confirmed the patient had passed away. I remember feeling completely taken aback. It was the first time I truly grasped the weight and responsibility of nursing.

Once I processed what had happened, my PA and the ward sister asked if I would like to take part in the 'last offices', (the process of washing and preparing the body of a deceased patient). They both took the time to check that I felt ready and supported before we entered the room. That simple gesture, (making sure I was okay), meant a lot. It reminded me how much compassion there is within nursing, not only for patients but also for each other.

Walking into the room felt like an 'out-of-body experience'. At 19 years old, I was acutely aware that I was at the very beginning of life while caring for someone who had just reached the end of theirs. The room was quiet and dimly lit, filled with a sense of peace and respect. Conversation between the three of us was minimal, which stood out against the usual noise and bustle of the ward.

Nothing could have prepared me for the physical sensations of performing last offices, the stillness of the patient’s body, the stiffness and coolness of their skin. The texture felt different from anything I had ever felt before, and although I had been told what to expect, the reality was far more intense. Surprisingly, the smell was one of the easier parts to process; it felt like the only “normal” aspect in an otherwise surreal moment.
Despite the strangeness of it all, I felt an unexpected sense of privilege. It struck me that I was carrying out the final act of care that could be given to this person, the last human touch, performed with dignity and respect. Being guided by two experienced and understanding nurses helped me feel grounded, and their calm presence allowed me to find a sense of peace in what we were doing.

When we stepped back out into the busy ward, the world seemed to resume as normal. It was almost disorientating, as though life carried on untouched by the profound moment I had just experienced. Yet, that return to normality helped me readjust and carry on with my day.
Looking back, this experience has been one of the most valuable and formative moments in my training so far. While it brought feelings of discomfort and sadness, it also gave me a deeper understanding of what it means to be a nurse, not just to heal, but to care for people with dignity through every stage of life, including its end.

I also believe that as student nurses, we could benefit from more open preparation and discussion around death and bereavement before our first placements. While no amount of training can truly prepare you for your first experience of death, having a better understanding of what to expect, both practically and emotionally, could help students feel less overwhelmed when that moment comes.

Now, I view that day not only as my first encounter with death but also as a defining step in becoming a compassionate, resilient nurse.