The Rev. Reginald Mortha on walking in sacred space

My Shoes Remembered Me

I was on my rounds and I looked into one of the rooms on my unit where doctors were working on K. K is a 56-year-old Caucasian who had a number of tubes protruding from the top of her head. I was surprised because I had never seen a patient with so many tubes. She seemed to be in a very critical condition. When leaving to go to another unit, the nurse called me and said that K’s family could use a Chaplain’s visit. She told me that the family had not requested a Chaplain but she felt that they might need some support since the prognosis was not good. They were in the waiting room.

As I approached the waiting room, the door was closed and it appeared to be dark inside. I opened the door and switched on the light. Mary, the mother of K, was sitting alone in a corner. Mary was 73 years old and from Ireland. She had red hair and her eyes were red.

I introduced myself. She stared at me with that look of alarm in her eyes (I usually get this kind of a look when the patient is serious and they see me walking in.). I quickly told her that I came in to introduce myself and that I was available for her and her daughter. When she realized that I was the Chaplain, she extended her hand and held onto my hand as if it was her last connection with the world. I saw in her red eyes a plea for some good news.

I made up my mind to make my conversation with her as genuine and honest as possible. So I began by saying, “Your eyes are red…probably from lack of sleep.”“Yes, it has been a horrible year,”she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

I felt my eyes dampen as she told me how God had taken away from her all those whom she loved dearly. Her brother and sister had died; the only remnants in her own family were gone. She herself had breast cancer and had been through four surgeries. One daughter had recently died of cancer. K, the daughter who was struggling to stay alive, had recently had a major surgery. She was airlifted from Kankakee right into Rush. She had a brain tumor that was cancerous and the doctors were still unsure how to proceed.

I sat with this mother and listened to her tell the story of how hard this year had been for her. I sat there in the waiting room with rays of sun coming through the window falling on my legs and making my shoes shine. I looked at my shoes and wondered how many miles a stranger had to travel to come to this sacred place and, within a few minutes, be able to hold the withered hand of an old woman whose face had so many wrinkles. It was like each experience had left a mark on her face. Her face showed so much experience, a face which had withstood the storm of suffering and agony. I looked at her face and into her eyes and said, ”It must very difficult to sit here and imagine the possibility of your daughter dying before you.”Tears came tumbling down as she nodded her head, affirming but not able to say anything. Her tears fell on my hand and she mumbled “sorry”and wiped them off with a tissue. I took the tissues from her hand and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

After the tears, I asked her about her daughter. She said, “She is a tough cookie, and she is Irish, too. She will not give up that easily.”I said, “She takes after her mother, I suppose.”She smiled and nodded.

I offered to pray and she nodded, held my hand and knelt down, I knelt down beside her and prayed for the mother and daughter, for strength and for comfort.

As I was leaving, she asked me my nationality, “I am from India,”I said.

Before I left for work that day, I closed my eyes and opened my Bible and found Psalms 137:4 looking at me. “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?”These days, as I struggle to keep pace with work and my candidacy process, somehow this old Irish woman inspired me to be draw strength and courage from God.

The Rev. Reginald Mortha is an ordained pastor of the Andhra Evangelical Lutheran Church in India, working as a Chaplain in the Department of Religion and Health at Rush University Medical Center, Chicago, Illinois.

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