It was a beautiful Tuesday morning on September 11th, 2001. I was making rounds in the hospital greeting a couple of patients with a smile, as I knew they were well enough to go home that day. Others were holding steady but not quite ready to return home for their recovery. In another section, patients were either tenuous, holding onto life with whispered prayers and the modern machines of medicine, or they were preparing for the final paradigm shift of life. In my career, I spent the most time with the third group where death most commonly approaches like a steam engine. The whistle blows and is followed by the low rumble of the engine, and we can sense the friction of the wheels upon the track. When it finally rounds that last corner, we are prepared as it approaches because we know death is arriving. However, sometimes death arrives …