Walking Well

I had the opportunity to spend about two hours this week with a Catholic nun who is sick in the hospital, and she was an absolute delight! We had some great conversations, but I thought I'd share a snipet with you all that still has me thinking and musing. She had a hospital room that over looks the front entrance of the hospital, so at one point she was looking out the window and said,

"What has been so fun has been sitting here watching all these people walk in and out of the hospital. And what is remarkable to me is that some of them walk SO well!"
I was a bit perplexed, so I asked, "“They walk so well? Can you tell me a bit more about what you mean by that?”
"I just mean that they walk, so upright, so fast, so strong, so confidently, it’s like they just march right along."

I thought this was an interesting thing to notice, or to comment on and wasn't sure where to go with the conversation next. As chaplains we are taught to let the patient guide the conversation, to try and listen really closely for what might be underneath some of the comments made, and to ask gently probing questions to get at the feelings someone might be experiencing even if they don't initially state that outright. Her next comment gave me the direction to pursue.

"I used to love to walk, every day I would go out for a walk, at least a half an hour. Then it took awhile to get use to not being able to do that any more when all this happened to my heart."

Ah ha. Grieving the loss of a physical ability, a very common experience for many in hospitals, and an issue many people don't spend the time helping them process. We think in life that we can't grieve something unless it's a drastic change--a divorce or a death, but in reality there are little changes, losses and transitions that happen all the time to us that cause feelings of grief and sadness in our lives, feelings many of us are taught to ignore along the way.

"You know Sister, sometimes I think it's okay to feel sad about not being able to walk quite like you used to, I think it's okay to acknowledge that loss and grieve for that."

"You know what Sarah? I think you are right, I am sad about that. I am so grateful about so many other things in my life, but I think it is okay to not be happy about this right now."

Walking well. How many of us really stop and think about this ability? Probably not too many of us. But I'm spending a lot of time these days around people who have lost this ability, and have spent quite a bit of time helping them put words to the feelings of sadness and loss that comes with this. And I am slowly becoming more and more grateful for those little things in life I have taken for granted for so long. I am also learning what a gift it is to give people an outlet to let them express the pain and grief and feelings that many family members won't. We want to encourage people in the hospitals to "cheer up, get well soon, be strong, you'll be fine..." when in reality giving them space to hurt, grieve, cry, be angry or vocalize questions and doubts is by far more healing to their hearts and spirits. I'm spending a lot of time with strong emotions of total strangers, and while I am still coming home exhausted, I am realizing what an incredible gift it is to be invited to enter into sacred territory with so many patients and their family members.