You never know

I received a call last night to visit with a patient at the Vale INCO Hospice. This, in itself was not unusual since I was on call and therefore could expect to be summoned at any time if I'm needed. The patient in question 'was doing OK, but the family has requested that the Sacraments be celebrated' so the call was made.

This person is used to getting this kind of call, and to visiting with patients at all times of day and night. Usually by the time the call is made though, the patient is either incommunicative or awaiting major surgery and therefore more than just a little bit nervous.

I was not surprised to find a crowd of people waiting for me when I arrived at the hospice - family members gather at times like this. I wasn't even surprised by the fact that the patient in question was happy to see me, and carried on a brief conversation with me prior to the celebration of the Sacrament.

The surprising part came as we concluded the prayers and blessings. There was a moment of absolute silence and stillness, when all that could be heard were the sobs of some. The air was pregnant with the uncertainty of whether the patient in question had made her final journey or would do so soon after the final blessing had been imposed. After an extended period of quiet, she placidly opened her eyes and asked 'Are we done now?'

Amidst the regailing of laughter, I quietly bid my farewells and left the family to continue their vigil. As I did, I couldn't help wondering who this person was and is: in the eyes of her family members she appears to be quite a formidable force, probably the glue that has held them together for quite some time. In the eyes of God, she is certainly among the beloved, as we all are.