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Some stories stop you mid-scroll.
Not because they’re shocking in the sensational sense, but because they feel personal in a way you didn’t expect. The story of Alex Pretti did that for me.
When I first read about him—a nurse, a caregiver, a man who spent his days tending to others—I felt that familiar tightening in my chest. And then it clicked why—my late father was cared for by nurses at a VA hospital.
And once you have that connection, you can’t read this kind of story from a distance anymore.
The Kind of Care You Never Forget
If you’ve ever had a parent in a VA hospital, you know something important: those nurses are different.
They aren’t just doing rounds. They aren’t just checking charts. They’re listening to stories that have been told a hundred times. They’re caring for bodies that have carried wars, trauma, silence, and pride. They’re holding space for men who don’t always know how to ask for help—but desperately need it.
When my father was there, it was the nurses who softened the hard moments. The nurses who explained things gently. The nurses who treated him like a whole human being, not just a patient.
So when I read that Alex worked in an ICU at a VA hospital, my mind immediately went there.
I imagined him the way I remember those nurses: steady hands, calm voice, and quiet compassion.
The kind of person you trust with someone you love.
A Caregiver Lost
Alex wasn’t just someone caught up in a tragic event. He was someone who had already given so much of himself to others. He chose a profession rooted in service. He showed up for people on their worst days.
And that’s the part that keeps echoing for me as a mom, as a daughter, as someone who has been on the receiving end of that care.
People like Alex don’t just disappear when they’re gone. They leave behind hundreds of small, unseen moments: patients who felt safer, families who felt less alone, and lives that were made easier simply because he showed up.
Why It Hurts as a Parent
As moms, we live in a constant state of loving deeply and worrying quietly.
We raise our kids to be kind. To stand up for what they believe in. To help others. We tell them those are the things that matter. Alex did all of that.
And yet, here we are—grieving someone who embodied the very values we hope our children grow into. That’s hard to reconcile.
Holding Space for the Loss
This isn’t a post about politics or policy. It’s about humanity.
It’s about recognizing that behind every headline is someone who was deeply loved. Someone who mattered. Someone who once came home tired after a long shift and probably didn’t think of himself as extraordinary at all.
And it’s about acknowledging how certain stories reopen old doors in our hearts—doors we didn’t realize were still tender.
For me, this one brought me back to hospital rooms, to the sound of monitors, to nurses who treated my father with dignity in his final chapter.
So yes—this one hit closer to home.
And I think it’s okay to say that out loud.
Because remembering people like Alex—really remembering them, not just reacting and moving on—is one way we honor both who they were and the love they gave so freely.
🤍
