Loving the Unlucky, Unloveable Characters

Last weekend, I was paged to a patient care unit to visit with M. M is a mid 50s, Caucasian female. M identifies religiously as a Messianic Jew. Upon a brief look at the patient's chart, I note that she had been brought in for an attempted suicide. I also see that M has already expressed to the social worker and several staff members that she is being abused at home -- mentally, physically and emotionally.

Breathe.

When I first arrived to M's room, she was laying in bed and one of the nurses was kneeling at her bedside, adjusting the wires attached to M's legs. I introduce myself by name and position. M and I lock eyes. She begins to weep. I softly ask M if I can pull up a chair and she nods in agreement. So, I do.

Breathe.

For the next half hour, M tells me in detail about her life. She tells me about feeling unloved, feeling unloveable. She tells me that her children found her unconscious after drinking four bottles of wine and taking "enough prescription pills to kill a horse". M says that she has been in the hospital for over a week and that not a single person from her family has come to visit her. M would like her children to feel sorry for her... she would like them to say, "Mom, we didn't realize that you were that unhappy. We love you. We're here for you." But, M says, "I'm not that lucky. I'm not that lovable."

Breathe.

M tells me that she is supposed to go home today, but that she is terrified. She says that it would be easier for her to jump in front of the El, than it would be for her to face her family. She tells me that she is considering it.

Breathe.

I tell M that I hear her pain. I tell her that I hear her anger, her hurt. I ask M what her experience is like. I ask M what she believes would come after life. I ask M who she is angry at.

Breathe.

"God."
--

M's story is not unfamiliar to me. M is just one person in a sea of people who walk around suffering, unable to put their finger on the who, what, where, when and why of their pain. But, the pain is not imaginary. The pain should not be ignored. As a person of faith, I can wind words in order to shame those who have a desire to self-harm. Or, I can be present with them in the midst of their reality. I chose to be present with M. I did not tell her that what she did was wrong. I did not tell her not to kill herself when she left the hospital. [[ Not an easy task.]] Instead, I reflected back to M the pain that she was expressing. I heard her. I held her in the midst of the pain, right where she was. I attempted to communicate to this "unlucky, unloveable" woman, that I love her and God loves her.

When people ask me why I do this work, I often tell them that when I was growing up, I collected bells. For me, each bell represented a different time, place and person. As an adult, I realize that the collection was never about the bells, it was about the stories attached to the bell. The bell was a simple, concrete reminder of where I've been, what I've done and who in my life was there to love me. I have since moved on from collecting bells, but I have never stopped collecting stories. Chaplaincy provides an excellent medium for collecting stories. Of course, there are other Divine inspired reasons for my involvement in this work. However, I believe that God uses my love of stories in order to keep me in love with what I do.

The hardest part of being a chaplain is that I am only allowed to read excerpts of people's stories. Often, I get the brief intro or the conclusion of their story. However, sometimes I am lucky enough to get the climax, or the epilogue.

M's story for me, is an epilogue. She shared with me the conclusion of her story -- drinking the wine, taking the pills, awaiting death to take her over. But, then she woke up. I asked M, "Why do you think you were woken up?" M replied, "Because it wasn't my time to go. God still has plans for me."

M's story is not over. This new normal, post-suicide attempt, is simply an epilogue, an act two, a sequel to what she had previously known. And, if there's anything that this story lover knows about epilogues, it's that they almost always set the ground work necessary for a peaceful resolution. I hope to not read the end of M's new story. But, if I do, I will continue to love this "unlucky, unloveable" character.

In the Grip of God's Grace, 

Pastor Anitta +♡

Standing at the Bedside

A few nights ago, I was paged to the hospital as a 'support person' for a particularly difficult case. The nurse told me that the patient had hung himself in the garage the morning before and had just been pronounced brain dead. She also told me that the mother was on her way to the hospital with their 10 year old daughter.

I got dressed, got in my car and Googled the whole way there... I Googled: what to tell a child about their dead parent, what to tell the surviving parent about child grief, how to make sense of suicide, what do pastors think about suicide, how to be present for suicide survivors, the list went on and on...

In many ways, I felt entirely underprepared to be entering into the room with the patient and his loved ones. This is not my first experience of suicide, it's not my first experience when a young child has been involved and its not my first case of parent suicide either. Yet, no matter how many of these cases happen... I'm put back in that place of being a novice in this field.

Standing at the bedside, I witnessed a grieving wife, mother, daughter, and parents. I heard stories about a beloved man, a gardener, Dr. Pepper lover, secret keeper, hide and go seek player and all around great dad. I heard a mother be completely honest with her 10 year old daughter about depression, about suicide and about how they were going to wake up tomorrow without this man because of it. They planned to spend all day writing letters to him, crying, watching movies and planting all of the new plants that dad had purchased. At one point, I too felt warm tears streaming down my face.

After the family left, the patient was taken off of life support and he died moments later. Shortly after, the nurse handed me what appeared to be a large, fancy watch. I inquired about the watch and was informed that it was an ankle bracelet. I found out that the patient had been on house arrest for child pornography charges. I was shocked. And then, I was relieved that I did not have that information prior to being present with the family in the midst of their grief. It brought up a lot of questions for me, questions that I'm embarrassed to share.

When I first began working in this ministry, I was amazed by the fact that most patients could care less about who I am,  my background or what my qualifications are. The only qualification that I need is to bear the title of Chaplain, to be kind, compassionate, empathetic and willing to listen. In many ways, I think this is true of the patient as well. I once had a professor of Pastoral Care inform me that as a Parish minister, it would be part of my responsibility to a congregation to 'invite people to leave the church'. I was horrified. While I understand the need, I cannot imagine being able to ask someone to leave the church.

As a hospital chaplain, I will never be asked to turn my back on someone. I have the privilege of interacting with those who have left the church for a million and one reasons. At the end of the day, my patient's story is no more important than my own. While I am often invited into the deep, dark, secretive places... I never carry that expectation. The only thing that matters is this chance conversations, in which God does what She does best.

So, yes. I am a pastor for pedophiles, murderers, convicts, felons, aunts, uncles, children, moms, dads, doctors, nurses, the wealthy and the poor. I am a pastor for the people.

In the Grip of God's Grace,

Pastor Anitta +♡