“I see things other people don’t see,” the young woman said softly as I looked into her moist brown eyes. I wondered what she meant, but nothing prepared me for what she said next.
Prior to training as a chaplain, I stayed home with my young children, busy doing routine tasks such as carpooling, assisting with homework, visiting with other mothers, and volunteering in Boy Scouts. My life changed when I sensed God calling me to chaplaincy and I followed the call by attending seminary. As part of my chaplain training, I provided pastoral care in a hospice unit on Saturdays. This new role stretched me beyond my comfort zone; I experienced apprehension and trepidation about being around death and dying. What do I say?
New role stretched me
On that frosty February morning, I had traveled to the hospice facility where I worked, praying for guidance and words to say to patients and their families. The sedate mood in the facility that day matched the gray sky outside. The twenty-five bed hospice provided ample room for visitors with comfortable couches and chairs for relatives and friends to gather around their loved ones. Patients’ families visited, sitting with them even while some patients remained unconscious and unresponsive. Families reminisced, related stories and stayed vigilant, many times spending the entire day or night.
For patients diagnosed as terminal and near the end of life, hospice offers a gentler and more peaceful environment than a hospital. I considered it a privilege and honor to be with these patients and their families, giving empathic listening, prayer, and comfort. I found my presence often conveyed more consolation than my words.
As I made rounds that day, I entered room six, Ms. Norma’s room. About ten people congregated in the spacious area around her hospital bed. Large windows allowed the light to come in even though the skies were overcast. The welcoming folks introduced themselves as her siblings and nieces. A bedside table held pictures of what appeared to be her children, but her children were not present. I thought she looked much older than her physical age of fifty-two; her weathered and drawn face poked above the white sheet covering her body. Her salt and pepper hair, neatly combed, framed her peaceful countenance. I wondered what disease or illness brought her to the end of life and to hospice.
Since Ms. Norma was not awake, I spoke with her siblings and nieces. I learned about the strained relationship she had with her children. One sister furrowed her brow and remarked, “My sister lived a rough life and we are sad about her choices.” One brother nodded in agreement and expressed remorse. Another sister heaved a deep breath and said, “She is dying so young. I wish it would be different.” Regardless of her past, they loved her and wanted to be present with her.
They loved her
After listening to the family, I recognized prayer would be meaningful to them as people of faith. Turning to the entire family, I explained, “Norma’s spirit is getting ready to depart from her body and her body is letting go. This is a sacred time with her. You can talk to her, tell her you love her, and say your goodbyes.”
Time to tell her goodbye
Then I stepped over to Ms. Norma, touched her shoulder, and said, “Ms. Norma, your family is here with you. They love you very much and God loves you. I want you to know God is here with you.” She did not respond. Tenderly, I added, “We are going to pray for peace and comfort.”
The family encircled the bed as I spoke words of consolation and promises of God’s mercy and faithfulness. Then I led them in a brief service with Scripture.
“Loving God, welcome Norma into the joy of your presence. We commend her to Almighty God and we entrust her to her Creator. May she be free to enter the living presence of God.”
A few repeated with me the words of Psalm 23 and all prayed the Lord’s Prayer. Faces relaxed, shoulders softened, and a hush came over the room. Like fog covers the ground in the early morning, tranquility covered us. After the prayer, the family appeared to be consoled and at peace. I offered my sympathy, giving handshakes and hugs.
Peace and comfort
Upon leaving, I walked over to the computer terminal at the nurse’s station to chart the visit. Several staff members chatted and keyboards clicked. The building retained a chill. I cradled sadness in my heart for this family, but the calm from the prayer lingered with me. I had hardly finished charting when a nurse strode up to me. “The patient in room six has just died.”
Astonished, I said, “I left the room a few minutes ago. The family was gathered around Ms. Norma, saying their goodbyes. She must have heard them giving her permission to go.”
Family gave her permission to go
When I entered the room, siblings were holding each other. Tears flowed from red, swollen eyes. Hugging several of the family members, I said, “I am so sorry for your loss.”
One niece in her thirties ushered me to a private area of the room. She spoke in a soft voice with hesitation, “I have to tell you something.” Shifting from one foot to the other, her eyes met mine as she declared, “I see things other people don’t see. Some people don’t believe me, so I am careful who I tell.”
I paused and gave her my full attention. “Tell me more.”
I see things
She pulled her long hair behind her neck and gazed at me. “I have visions, sometimes.” She paused as I acknowledged what she said. Her face shone. “Just a few minutes ago, I watched angels in the room around my aunt! They were all around. It was as if they came to escort her!”
I could not speak as a shiver went down my spine. My eyes filled with tears as I processed what she said. It took me a few seconds to respond. “You truly have a rare gift and thank you for sharing. This is reassuring for your family.”
A shiver went down my spine
I felt a sense of awe and learned that day not to make assumptions. The niece witnessed a glimpse of the supernatural in the thin space between the physical and the transcendent. The supernatural happens when we least expect it. We are physical and rarely perceive the spiritual, but sometimes we get to view beyond the veil.
What a blessing to that family – and to the chaplain! Thanks for sharing your story with us.
We don’t often see beyond the veil.
That is a beautiful story. The family was so blessed to have had you there.