Chaplains in the Army are no strangers to death. Peacetime or war, we find ourselves sharing one of the most intimately eventful moments in a person’s life on this earth. Ready or not what unfolds may be a parable with a heavenly meaning that informs our future ministry and our own continued wrestling with God in service to others. The lessons are universal.
After 18 months at Water Reed Army Medical Center in DC (1993-1994), completing my Clinical Pastoral Education and extra work at Arlington National Cemetery, I was sent on my utilization assignment to William Beaumont Army Medical Center in El Paso, TX. One night I got a call from the floor nurse on one of my assigned wards. A female patient (Will call her Mrs. “A”) was dying. The nurse knew I had visited her and the nurse wanted my presence. Upon arrival I slipped into Mrs. A’s room to find a dark lonely place. She seemed unconscious but perhaps conscious enough to hear her surroundings. I took my place by her head and softly spoke to her of my presence, Gods presence, and love-infused hope we both had for her. I knew she had family, but they never came to see her. She refused to discuss them. Mrs. A rarely spoke. Now, in her last moments, she could not speak or even open her eyes. The room was chilly, even cold, that added to a grim scene.
Then suddenly I heard a rustling sound behind me. Turning abruptly, I discovered a woman sitting almost crouched in the far corner of the room in a visitor’s chair. She was partially hidden by the dim surroundings. She barked at me softly, “Why waste your time. She’s dying. She’ll be dead soon. Let’s get it over with. No one left.” Her words were as cold as the room. I tried to engage in a short conversation with her knowing death had me on the clock with Mrs. A. But the woman waved me off with disgust and a sneer. No love. No care.
Next came the gasp for air and the familiar gurgling sound deep inside Mrs. A’s chest as if one’s soul speaks a last desperate plea, and she was gone. Her body quickly grew as cold as the room and her relationships, rigid, firm.
Again, I turned to approach the visitor who might now show some sadness, some care, but she was gone as if she was part of my imagination hoping for someone else to be here for Mrs. A. Quietly, I slipped out of the crypt-like room and reported to the nursing station that Mrs. A had died at 7:44 PM.
The head nurse thanked me then said, “Chaplain, before you go, Sally (pseudo name) is dying in room 115. Won’t you be with her too?” I sighed and said “yes” quickly moving to just two doors down from Mrs. A. Opening the door surprised me, almost shockingly.
There was Sally propped up in her bed, eyes closed, and conscious or not, I couldn’t tell. The lights were bright and cheery with about 20 family and friends filling the room to capacity. Three generations of caring women were gathered around the bed with the next family matriarch in line at the head, my usual place. They massaged her feet. They stroked her white hair. They sang her favorite Christian hymns so sweetly it brought tears to my eyes. Another whispered into Sally’s ear that Jesus and her family were present to help her in transition from this life to the next. Sally was never alone now or in the future.
The family noted my presence with smiles of strength, faith, and assurance. The soon to be new matriarch, Sally’s eldest daughter, invited me to join her at the head and say a prayer for all gathered. Honored among so great a cloud of Christian witnesses, I humbly took my place, thanked all for being here, then prayed. A couple of “Amens” resonated as background music to my poor words now forgotten. Then I whispered into Sally’s ear a final blessing and she died. As if on cue all knew and shouts of thanksgiving for her life rose up like incense before God. Tears flowed from joy for a life well lived among them and had blessed and made them better people.
I reported back to the nurse’s station of Sally’s death at 8:12 PM. Unlike my announcement of Mrs. A’s passing that engineered frowns or sadness, this time all smiled, and one nurse even spoke an “Amen”.
Famous American poet Robert Frost once wrote a now familiar piece with the refrain, “Two roads diverged within a wood…”. This night two doors, two lives presented themselves contrasting passings from this life to the next. I still ponder this experience for lessons learned and its impact upon my life and ministry. Two lives diverged within this world….
