From “Walk with Me: A Journey through the Landscape of Trauma” by Ellen Corcella
It dawned on me something invisible was happening during encounters with patients, something I had not recognized during those first dizzying weeks or training. In one encounter, I visited an older gentleman who thought he was dying. He was seated in a chair at bedside while his wife sat on the other side of the room. He recounted what he perceived to be a misspent youth. After the death of his mother during his teen years, he lived on the streets and occasionally stole food to avoid difficult family circumstances.
He recounted attending college, marrying, raising a family, and having a successful career, then his demeanor took on a “confessional” posture. He whispered his “sins” to me, so his wife could not hear our conversion. He wanted prayer, and I chose my words carefully to reflect the conversation with compassion and understanding.
Then the man sobbed. I was completely taken aback. What did I say or do that caused him to cry? I assumed prayer would provide comfort, a salve to the would revealed by the patient and a spiritual conclusion to my visit. I was quite sure my role was not to cause patients to cry.
Later that week, I explored the visit with my supervisor. “I do not understand what happened. Why did the man sob after my prayer?” What I was learning was that prayer does not just close doors (like the standard use of prayer to end a meeting), but it also opens doors to spirit, emotion, memories, and yearnings.
I learned my role as a chaplain was not to leave a room when tears flowed, but to remain and offer the patient an opportunity to explore these now unlocked emotional pathways. Here, I left the patient after my prayer because I could not navigate his tears, his sorrow. What I did not understand, as a novice chaplain, was presence and attentive listening allowed patients to be transformed, to feel safe enough to pour out their memories, and to release deeply hidden emotions.