Chaplain Darren C. Tourville on the magnitude of death

837

Numbers can either have great importance or little significance in our lives. What may make my head turn might not make your head turn. Recently the number 837 has caused me to pause and reflect. You see, I had just been on my 837th death here at St. John’s. A number that reflects 10 years of hospital ministry represents so much more than three digits.

It all started on 10/30/1997 with my first death and I have now handled 837. I keep a log of the number, date, name, and age of the deceased. Call me morbid, but I don’t want to forget any of the various lives with which I have been so blessed to intertwine. To say that each death has touched me in one way or another would be a vast understatement.

I’ve ministered to patients, families, and staff after natural deaths, homicides, suicides, car accidents, boat accidents, farm accidents, ATV wrecks, still births and any other conceivable death. Two that will forever be etched in my mind and heart reflect both ends of the age spectrum. Being in our hospital’s morgue as grandparents identified their beautiful three-year-old granddaughter was one. She had died after being in a boating accident on one of the area lakes. It really hit me hard. Having a three-year-old daughter at home myself contributed greatly to that.

Another death I won’t soon forget involved a 91-year-old gentleman. A shot gun blast to the chest ended his life. He was recently widowed and dealing with cancer. The thought of being without his wife of 70 years was just too much. I can still hear the cries of pain and anguish from his hysterical daughter. She had found dad in a pool of blood on the back porch next to his twelve-gauge shot gun.

The mass of humanity in 837 has included doctors, bankers, the homeless, athletes, students, nurses, prisoners, nursing home residents, and travelers. I’m reminded often that death is always near. I’m 39 (a number that is starting to have great significance for me) and God willing, many years from being entered into someone else’s log book. Even as I say that, I’m also aware that my time could come just as unexpectedly as the myriads of folks I’ve journeyed with here at the hospital. Life is unpredictable.

With each number that I write in the log book, may faces and stories and holy moments continue to be remembered. May God forgive me if my log ever becomes purely statistical and not relational.

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