Ghosts of the Navigator

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I’ve done CPR a large amount of times.
Chest compressions and ventilations. Shock or no shock.
Most of them don’t make it. You learn that early.

But still, we try.
We kneel (almost in a prayer). We sweat. We count.
We talk like they can hear us.
We act like it matters. And that’s the point.

Sometimes I think about the other things I do for people that don’t “work.”

I send the text even when I know they won’t answer.
I check in on friends who say they’re fine but blink too slowly.
I hold space for students who failed the same scenario three times.

None of it fixes anything.
But maybe not everything is supposed to be fixed.
Maybe it’s supposed to be held. Briefly, yet aggressively. Pointlessly.
Like a heart that won’t beat on its own.

I’ve heard it said: “CPR buys time.”
Fine. I’ll buy time.
Even if it’s just enough for someone else to show up.
Even if the pulse never returns.

Because sometimes, trying is the only rhythm left in the room.