To live in this world you must be able to do three things:
To love what is mortal;
to hold is against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
And, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
Mary Oliver
I write on a day of mild temperature and soft, passing clouds. I am on-call at the hospital- the day shift on Saturday which keeps me here from 8:30 am till 8:30 pm. I sit outside (always close to a door to the hospital or a phone) soaking in all that this first unit has been for me. We just completed our final evaluations of our first (of four) units that will make my full year as a chaplain resident. Feeling number one: exhaustion.
(oh! I hear sirens! May have to stop to attend to the incoming medical alert)
Back to exhaustion. The pace this year is incredibly demanding. I am on-call over night at the hospital once a week at least and also here on-call once a week during the day (sometimes on the weekend days). Our on-call schedule is on-top of our regular work hours which are supposed to be from 8:30 am to 5 pm, but I usually manage to leave around 4 or 4:30 and notice the other residents do too . Then we have weekly reflection papers and verbatim papers (analyzing an interaction with a patient/ family.
So, it’s a lot of time at work and a lot of intense experiences in that time. One good thing is I’m learning how I deal with such a crazy/ emotionally intense schedule. Meditation and prayer has become much more important for me. I notice when I haven’t meditated for several days. I feel out of touch with myself and with the Divine. Sleep is important (although that is often what I am lacking). And running. I live close to a little park that hosts big, old oak trees that have gifted me with vibrant yellows and oranges this fall. The little pond with ducks floating around and the little over-grown trails on which I run are a respite to my tired soul. There is nothing like dirt to sooth a weary soul.
Another thing I am learning is about emotional intimacy. One of the biggest lessons on being a chaplain is learning how you are with yourself in times of anger or grief, or any emotion that isn’t comfortable or familiar to you. How you are with yourself impacts how you are with others. You can see this in families- when a Grandmother, for example, is telling her daughter that it is God’s will that her child just died, you wonder how she is with accepting her own grief. Because grief for her is uncomfortable, she doesn’t know how to deal with the grief of her daughter and wants to “fix” it through a simple explanation.
As a chaplain, I am learning about my “base” self- what is most familiar to me- feeling stable and strong; feeling happy and wanting to help others feel happy and safe. Sometimes I am so attached to my “base self” that I neglect the unfamiliar, uncomfortable and unknown parts of my being that need attention and care. I tend to pass over uncomfortable feelings or “get them out” with a good run. I am so used to being the “happy and cheerful” person, I don’t know how I will be accepted by others (or myself) in times of sadness. Chaplaincy is helping me to grow other parts of myself (listening, serious parts) that connect more with people’s grief and anger.
Intimacy is paying attention to the whole of who we are- to the uncomfortable and comfortable, frightened and confident, weary and strong. It is being present with oneself and also risking sharing these things with other people.
Little snippets of my year thus far:
• Being present to the parents of a two year old who was a “roll over” (suffocated in sleep.) When they arrived at the hospital, the doctors tried five times to revive the pt, to no avail. The devastation was uncontainable. There was nothing- absolutely nothing- I could do to help sooth or make the situation any better.
• Jumping every time the pager goes off (this has happened a couple times in this writing). And the words “thank you!” exiting my mouth when “ortho-eval” reads across the pager (one of the pages we chaplains don’t have to respond to!)
• Finally at home and grateful for tears running down my cheeks after being on-call tending to a large Amish family whose ten year old son had gotten hit by a car. They had learned that his preliminary tests showed brain death.
• Talking with teens on the psych ward- sometimes feeling like I am making a difference and other times being frustrated at the insurmountable wall some of my patients have to climb to get to a place of stability and healing.
• Talking with my uncle Sandy and feeling my own grief. Sandy is one of my closest relatives who will be with us in this land of the living for only another few days, possibly weeks. I try to talk with him every day and find great comfort in hearing his voice and sensing his calm for his own death.
• Friends and kitchens. Making new friends from the swim team I joined and through my roommate Becky. Conversations floating on the wings of savory aromas in this beloved room. Kitchens are harbors for intimacy. Laughter and tears, delicious and spoiled food, warmth (ovens) and cold (freezers)- all found in this one room. Everything falls apart and comes together in kitchens.
• Vegan baked goods! The joys of living with a friend who is vegan and loves to bake! Chocolate cupcakes with frosting stacked so high the cupcakes fall over…perfectly moist zucchini bread… chocolate molasses cookies… YUM!
Well, that is all for me! Signing off before the pager scares the living day lights out of me again! Love, Cassie
