From “Walk with Me: A Journey through the Landscape of Trauma” by Ellen Corcella
As I turned around, I saw the patient’s teenage children seated in the darkened corner, frozen in fear. I walked over, and, as I introduced myself, my insides suddenly knotted up as my body connected the patient lying in bed to a mother about to leave her teenaged daughter motherless. I panicked. My greatest fear was dying too young and leaving my daughter motherless. Trying to maintain my composure, I suggested they gather around the bed for prayer.
My heart ached for the young girl whose time with her mother would be cut short. My insides swirled; my thoughts circled. I thought, she needs to talk to her mother. Was I telling myself to speak to my own mother? Finally, I stood close, like an angel on her shoulder, whispering, “Feel free to tell your mother anything you need to say.”
We bowed our heads, and I prayed fervently for the patient and family. The patient’s husband said some kind words about my pastoral care that I no longer remember. I do remember I was certain the patient would die very soon.
I could not leave that room fast enough. Focus on your task. Focus on writing your chart notes. Tears flowed down my cheeks before the upheaval of cry burst through my chest. Surely, I was not crying. I walked out of the ED into the adjoining hallway to regain my composure. I leaned my back against the wall but could not stop the tears. I walked over to a private office. As soon as I tried to type out the encounter, I cried. Trying to move beyond the tears, I remembered the advice to talk to someone when in crisis. I called my staff mentor. This wise, kind curmudgeon asked “What’s wrong, young grasshopper?”
Through tears, I said this job was too hard. I had fallen apart to the point I could not write a note, and I was not cut out to be a chaplain. Sobbing on the job surely disqualified me for the profession. I was barely able to talk, but said enough that, as a chaplain for close to forty years, he understood the situation. “No, you can write the note. No, falling apart does not mean you cannot do this work. Falling apart tells me you have the heart of a chaplain.”
I could not believe what he was saying. It took much longer for me to connect the dots between my trembling and the dying mother and her daughter.