Kelly R. Chripczuk

Carmen

Carmen was a small Puerto Rican woman in her fifties who spoke a combination of broken English and rapid-fire Spanish. She was a patient at a psychiatric hospital where I served as a Chaplain Intern during the course of my M. Div. training. The first time I talked with Carmen I was tired and she seemed interesting and easy to be with, so we sat together for quite awhile just chatting about nothing. I couldn’t always understand everything she said, and often urged her, “English, please, English,” in an attempt to follow what she was saying.

Soon I was checking on Carmen nearly every time I visited her unit. She always dressed neatly and I complimented her on the bright colors she wore. She would show me things she had in her room, like a picture of her grandson or the new clothes her daughter brought for her, and she sang songs for me that she’d written in Spanish. Carmen would occasionally jump up in the middle of a conversation and start humming and dancing a Latin dance (the Samba?) or touching her toes vigorously (which embarrassed me a little, but was also quite amusing).

Carmen was always positive and upbeat, but one day I found her sitting slumped over with her head in her hands. She began crying as she explained her frustrations with her treatment. Her sadness had a deep effect on me. It’s one thing to see a patient who’s often depressed crying, but seeing Carmen cry was difficult – if Carmen was going to cry, I wanted to give up and cry too! I put my hand on her shoulder and sat with her until we were interrupted by a phone call. A few days later Carmen was her upbeat again. As she passed me talking with another patient she touched my arm smiling and said with conviction, “Ah, here is a very nice lady.”

And then, just like that, Carmen went home.

The lessons I learned from our time together continue to stay with me. Carmen taught me that often we’re drawn to certain people for reasons we can’t explain. There was something I genuinely liked about Carmen that made me want to spend time with her even when she didn’t make sense and wouldn’t speak in English. I also sensed that she enjoyed my company too. Carmen’s words of affirmation were a gift of great value to me and reminded me that even those who possess very little can give great gifts to those around them.

Finally, my time with Carmen confirmed that ministry really is confined to the moment. I wasn’t terribly sad that I didn’t get to say goodbye to Carmen because I felt that we had been really present to each other during the times that we were together. My only regret with Carmen is that sometimes when she started dancing, I thought it would be fun to dance too, but didn’t. If I had a chance to see Carmen again, I would dance with her.

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