I will hope for things unseen now/One day my heart will be at peace

This weekend was...eventful.
First, a coworker was driving into work on Sunday morning and got swiped on the Interstate by a blue truck (which kept going, by the way) and she was forced off the road and almost off the overpass she happened to be on. She hit her head and has a bump, and the car is rather banged up, but she's fine.
Second, Sunday afternoon a client was found dry-humping his housemate in her bed. Yes, they are different genders, and yes, it's allowed, because he hadn't made any sort of sexual advances towards anyone since 1996. Then he tried to do the same to two different staff people. The housemate got moved into a different apartment, but that's only temporary due to legal restrictions.
In case I never clarified, I work for an ICFs/MR, which is an Intermediate Care Facility for people with Mental Retardation. Yes, that is the actual, technical, legal term. Basically, these people can't function in society for one reason or another--either their MR is too profound, or it's not bad but they have significant health/other mental issues that prevent them from living in more informal settings. I am a night attendant there, and unlike less formal houses, called Waivered Homes (meaning the regulations regarding care of people with MR are waived somewhat because they are very high-functioning), it's an awake job. The people I care for need 24-hour awake care for various reasons--catheters need to be drained, they get bedsores and need to be rotated, they have seizures, they're schizophrenic, they're bipolar and while manic don't sleep, etc.
Third event. Another client, we'll call him Fred (no, that's not his name. I'm bound by HIPAA laws to some extent), was complaining of a headache and was throwing up on Friday. He got Tylenol for the headache, and by the time I got there at 11 pm he was fine. He slept all night and woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Saturday morning.
Fourth event. When I get to work Saturday night, I'm told that Fred is in the hospital because his stomach bloated up and made him look five months pregnant. He's only 95 pounds anyway, so....yeah. Turns out, he had a massive air bubble in his colon and the only treatment for it is lots of pain meds and a clear liquid diet to keep the intestine empty while waiting for the gas to leave--i.e., have a massive fart. I notify various other people who left messages to be informed and went about my business.
Fifth event. Fred died at 8:30 pm yesterday, April 5. He was twenty-five years old. He just...stopped breathing.
I was out of contact for a few hours before I went into work because I don't have a cell phone and wasn't home, so I didn't find out until I got to work at 10 pm. Once everybody but my fellow night-attendant cleared out, I called home and asked that they call Andrew, because I needed to talk to him.
Andrew used to work where I work now, you see. And Fred was his favorite client.
Andrew showed up a few minutes later, and held me and reassured me and just in general helped me feel a LOT better. He also brought caffeine and ice cream and flowers (yes, flowers) and Solace. He helped so much, just by being there when I needed him, even though he had his own things to do. Andrew, I love you. Just so you know.
It's the first time anyone in my care has ever died, and if I stay in anything remotely similar to this line of work, I have no doubt I'll see it again, over and over.
But like another client pointed out to me this morning, at least now Fred can walk.
Sorry. I'm going to cry again for awhile, and then (finally) go to bed. It's been a long and horrible day.

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