Who will wipe her tears? For her hands are not free to do so. They are busy. Busy holding her husband in that space between asleep and awake, between being alive and passed. Kneeling beside her, the scene is sad enough for me to produce my own tears. But hers flow freely from her eyes down her cheeks like rain droplets down a window. Her husband's arm wrestles about when her hand is not in his. His head shifts to and fro till she places her sweaty palm on his bandaged forehead. But what do to with these tears. She has no way to wipe them, nowhere to put them. This is hard work.
With one hand gently on her shoulders I take a tissue and slowly clean the tears off her cheeks and from under her eyes, not trying to stop or ignore them but offering space for more. With no free hands this woman, wife, mother, friend and so much more has no one to manage her tears for her. In this way I can serve her.
I see many tears in my comings and goings in the hospital. Some try to hold them back, but they always come. Some don't know why they cry, but I give them permission anyway. Some feel fragile crying in front of people, others feel exposed. All seem to be wondering, "Who will take care of these tears?" It is my honor to respond with, "I will."
I find myself wondering the corridors of this labrinth gathering tears in my bucket, taking care of them when no one else can, leaving to find more. I have a bucket with me, it can hold your tears. No matter how many there may be there's always room. This is the most painful, most sacred part of my job: gathering tears. And I am humbled.
"Record my lament; list my tears on your scroll-are they not in your record?" -Psalm 56:8
1 comment:
simply beautiful
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