3:12 P.M.
Ruth Goldthwaite
Chaplain, Saint Alphonsus Regional Medical Center
THIS WAS A SIGNIFICANT trauma, and I was glad to have been called. Chaplains are in such a unique position to help people when they are so very vulnerable.
The day had been a busy one for us in the emergency room. Doctors and nurses had their hands full, a team effort of different disciplines working fast to get Brian and his family the medical care they needed. Soon after Brian arrived, I got a page from our guest relations specialist.
“Ruth, could you come down to the emergency room?” They had three patients, members of one family, who were physically, emotionally, and spiritually trying to process what had happened to them.
Human beings are so wonderfully individual. Every person reacts differently.
That is part of the joy and difficulty of being a chaplain. We come without any agenda, not seeking to convert people or push on them any spiritual agenda. We want to be present where they are, seeking to help and comfort them, enabling them to connect with those who are closest. If people are sad, we try to create space to hold that sadness. If they are happy, we join in with that happiness.
It is sacred space. Where God abides.
I saw Heather and Jayann before going to the room where Brian was going through the painful process of having the medical team irrigate his cuts and then stitch his significant head laceration. Because the wound has to be sterile, the experience can be quite difficult.
While the doctors and nurses did their work, I went to the head of the bed, seeking to be a calm, steady presence—someone Brian could talk to about the things that were swirling in his head and heart. I introduced myself, seeking to help him understand I was a part of a team of people helping him, saying, “I can’t imagine what this has been like for you.”
“I need to talk,” he said. “I am a firefighter. I know what is going on. I want and need to get this off my chest.”
The gift I could offer, in that moment, was to be a safe space where Brian could say anything he wanted. To give him validation for the feelings he was going through. To provide reassurance that other family members were on the way. That Jayann and Heather were getting medical care and would be connected with him soon.
Comfort. Peace. Reassurance.
He had become distraught because people were calling him a hero, and he wasn’t ready to hear something like that. “I am the pilot,” he reacted. “I was the one who made the final decision to take off!”
Like other first responders finding themselves in this position, Brian had all these professional skills, yet this emergency had happened to him. He was having difficulty finding any balance amid the feelings of horror and the responsibility he felt personally for the crash itself. He is a person used to giving care, not getting it.
From the moment his plane crashed, he had faced the crisis head-on. He had needed to be strong, the one always saying, “We will get through this,” all the while so fearful that they just might not make it.
Up on the mountain, he had almost lost Jayann and Heather, and even though they were now nearby being treated, he still had fear for their safety and well-being, again feeling responsible. “I put them into this position. So don’t call me a hero, saying that I did a bunch of wonderful things.”
In these moments, we don’t try to solve any of that. Instead, we simply grant him permission to have and express feelings that he doesn’t yet know what to do with. Letting him know that he is doing a good job of being in touch with what is going on inside. Saying to him, for this moment, “Let us please attend to you. Then you can go and be captain again. You have done an extremely amazing job of it so far. Please let us carry this for you for a little bit.”
As chaplains, showing compassion through words and actions, we seek to be a first step of healing, helping others to carry these kinds of experiences in a way that leads them to becoming whole again.
It is a great job that I have. Sometimes, I am a comforter. The person who comes alongside people in difficulty with the assurance that, if they do the work, all will be well.
Brian could live with horror, guilt, and fear for the rest of his life, but the good news was that he did not need to. He could tend to himself and all that was going on inside, eventually getting to the place of saying, “Yes. I have these feelings, but here is the other side of what happened to us that day. We survived and are going to be well. Even more, we have come together as a family.”
What had been missing for Brian was the reassurance that his family was going to be fine. The more information he had, the more he was able to let go of his fear for their safety and focus on his own recovery.
You can’t take care of others unless you are in a position of being healed yourself, inside and out.
As I talked with Brian, he took the first step of what would be a longer process of healing for him and his family. He recognized the significance of the moment they had experienced on the mountain together. Now, as they had literally come down off the mountain, there would be significant work to come, tending to his family and what was going on inside of him. It might seem to be easy to move on, once you are done with the physical stuff, and that is certainly appropriate. But spiritual healing is also needed, and it doesn’t always happen in the same time frame.
Details about the future tend to swirl. Yes. You have five million things ahead of you, but 99.9 percent of them can wait. Take today. Think about the things that are most important, resting assured that bones will heal.
Yes. There was a real joy to be had here and now.
We could celebrate that they had survived and were getting quality medical care. Moreover, they were an incredible family unit, so very mindful of each other and how they were doing. Tabitha was amazing, being the center of the communication wheel, getting people organized, talking to other family members, and being the point person with the firefighters who were coming to the hospital offering their assistance.
Even though Brian had been upset over being called a hero, he managed to maintain his sense of humor, joking with the doctor that she had better stitch him up so that he would look pretty, even maintaining a wonderful balance of the professional and personal.
Some people, faced with trauma, just turn inward, not knowing what to do or how to get help. Not this family.
They were grateful, even mindful that there was purpose in what had happened. We are here. We are alive. We are going to trust in something bigger because we are here and we didn’t think we would be. There was a moral purpose, something bigger happening that Brian did not want to miss or squander.
Pretty profound for someone in his shoes.
In the midst of everything that was swirling for him, Brian had this sense of divine intervention. Some people use the language “the mystery of faith.” Faith allows us to be open to things that we can’t see or imagine. To be that open can be exciting and fearful all at the same time, like looking over the edge of the unknown.
Brian, Jayann, Heather, and Tabitha had that sense of confident wonder in God. For some reason, we all didn’t die. God was with us.
Yes. All would be well.