Chaplain Adam

We carefully approach Dorothy peacefully asleep in her wheelchair. Her deafness makes her invulnerable to the background beat of an old western movie blaring on the lobby TV screen, big band jazz tunes pouring out from the nearest bedroom radio, and silverware clinking from the trays of those finishing a late lunch. While I am taking in the scene, the nurse whom I am shadowing gently grasps Dorothy's shoulder. While this calm, fragile figure awakes from her place of rest, the nurse turns and lifts a small dry erase board off of the dresser. Carefully inking an inscription, she warns me that never has she written this much for Dorothy to read. We both hope she has enough energy today to understand us. When the nurse holds up our rectangular source of conversation I follow Dorothy's eyes slowly bounce from word to word. I realize that I have been holding my breath, watching for any slight evidence of a facial cue. She makes it to the last word. Facially unmoved, she cranes her neck upward towards me. Her eyes confirm that we have officially been introduced. She smiles. I exhale. To my surprise she touches my hand. Finally, the nurse can proceed with her examination. And whole time I just sat next to Dorothy looking at her life story through her photos on the wall. I would point at one or another and she would smile and squeeze my hand. Our wordless communication turned out to be a glorious conversation.

Thus concluded my first visit with a hospice patient as Chaplain Adam. I have recently begun my new job for a hospice health care company. We provide palliative or comforting care for those with a terminal diagnosis of less than 6 months to live. Our area includes about 125 patients and 45 different nursing homes or other assisted living facilities in the greater metro Milwaukee area. The job description of a hospice chaplain is more or less to coordinate spiritual care for a patient and their family. This often includes responding to requests of specific sacraments, contacting local clergy of the patient's preferred religious denomination, assisting or presiding in memorial services, acting as counselor for lively family dynamics, and more popularly, spending one on one time discussing life's final transition with the patient and their family.

It is hard to express how these visits carry so much meaning, but I look forward to sharing with you a few stories about the precious patients and supportive staff I work with. Any and all insights about death and dying from your own experience are welcome. I would really benefit from your wisdom. I hope you have a wonderful week!

A Day in the Life

"Get out! Or else I'm calling the police!"

Some days are better than others working for the Visiting Nurse Association. We get used to odd requests or upset patients but this day was something else.

Betty had built up quite an infamous reputation in the last week. In a matter of days she requested five visits from various service technicians regarding issues with her wheelchair. Frustration builds when she has a reoccurring problem with different parts of the chair that could not be resolved on one or two trips. Customer Service now recognizes her voice by the second syllable. And not to mention she told Brad she would call the police if he did not leave immediately.

So you can imagine how I felt when I found Betty's paperwork next to my name tag. I remember whispering to myself, "This will be good experience for the chaplain job you want." I recently received a job offer to work as a part-time chaplain for a small hospice agency in Milwaukee. I chalked this challenge up to some circumstances I might find with hospice care. I also honestly wondered in what manner I would become the next service technician victim. In front of her house I crossed myself to build up the courage to leave the security of my van.

One hour and forty minutes later I returned to the van.

I wish, at times like these, I was given the gift of quick wit or bright insight or uplifting humor. I figured that's what people appreciated most in problematic times. Yet it seems more often than not it is the response I downplay the most that somehow makes a difference. All I'm able to do in the face of violent storms is to nod slowly and to listen hard.

And how often do we hear this, but Betty needed to tell her story. She has so much pent up anger against her daughters for being absent, her caregivers for not giving her excellent service, her husband for leaving this world without her, and her God for allowing this all to happen. Somehow telling her story is therapeutic. I could tell by the tears she cried, the smile that surfaced near the end, and the hug she gave me when we said goodbye. No matter how badly I want to, I cannot give peace. I can only invite it to emerge.

Betty still calls the office every so often. And when I go out to see her I know that it really is not about the complaint concerning the wheelchair I need to focus on, it is allowing and accepting her to be herself. I wish could pick up her spirits with a good joke, or show off some quick wit, or provide deep breakthrough insight. But I am there oversimplified or not, to let her tell her own story.

These Boots Were Made for Blogging

The phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Veronica from Our Lady of Guadalupe." (that's the parish I was youth minister at)

"Oh hey, what's up?"

"It's been a year and a half but your boots finally came in."

"Um, what?"

"Your boots......from Mexico." (I never ordered any boots when I was in Mexico)

"Ohhhh, okay." (having no idea what's going on I pretend to know what's going on)

So Veronica and I set up a time to come over to her house dinner. Forgetting for a moment, I looked lost when they reminded me of the boots. Out they came in their leathery glory. Regretfully, I thought for a fleeting second they might not fit. With every eye in the room on me I silently placed each boot on. To my surprise they were cushy and comfortable...and fit perfectly. The family cheered.

It had been a year and a half since I visited their grandmother in Leon, Mexico, the leather and shoe capital of Mexico. So during my visit I thought since I needed dress shoes, that I might find a great souvenir. I'll repeat that. I was looking for brown dress shoes. But here's where things get a little fuzzy. I don't remember saying a word or talking about cowboy boots. I don't know how they got my shoe size unless it was while I was looking for dress shoes. However I did not find literally any shoe my size. Maybe that's why the boots order took a year and a half. I ended up settling on a pair of sandals, of which I was quite content. Or so I thought.

Hesitant at first to accept the boots, now they've really grown on me. I wore them the rest of the afternoon with the family. And now every time I go to mass it will be in style like many of the others in the Guadalupe congregation sporting their own boots. Outside of that I am still unsure of when to wear them...unless of course there is a western themed party. Huh, I may have to throw one of those.

I am open to ideas, though :)

And to assure the doubters like my brother I do know it is not chic to wear the boots with shorts. I think I deserve a little more style credibility than that.

But that my friends is the story of my boots. They were made for blogging. Don't you think so?

No One Saw It Coming

Like too many frustrating times before, no one saw it coming. She wasn't just bubbly, she was as warm and genuine as your grandmother. In fact she recently had become a grandmother by one of her three sons. Her name was Deb and she left invaluable impression on my mother before she left. Her exit was unexpected because no one believed she was capable of making such a decision.

Just a couple of weeks ago, overheard in the everyday coworker chatter my mother found out that Deb took her own life. Later, on the phone and choking back tears, my mother told me each memory of her brief friendship with hallowed disbelief. Both of them were proud their sons went to Marquette High School. Both were proud grandmothers, armed with photos at the ready when called upon or not.

What my mom repeated again and again was her exceptional personality that valued every fortunate person in the same room as her. It was the way she remembered the small details about you.

For my mom and many of us, the questions remain:

How can someone who went out of their way to make sure you knew someone cared, not care for their own self?

How can a mother and grandmother make such a decision to leave her family behind in this traumatic way?

What an awful conversation to discuss. Why even broach the subject? I believe Deb's story needs to be heard so that others do not have to suffer alone. I have to believe that God does not linger in times like these. Instead there the Spirit is, laboring to transform complete devastation into some good, the sole hope being this tragedy can prevent further tragedies.

Knowingly or unknowingly my mother and her coworkers did just when shortly after hearing the news, they made a pact that no matter how hopeless or trapped either one of them felt, they would confide in one another rather than be consumed with overwhelming guilt or shame at such irrational thoughts.

And if anything needs more awareness it is that mental illness misconstrues reality and rational thought right upside down. One can actually tragically believe they are more of a burden on their family by existing than not. When and if the illness subsides, one can be overcome by the weight of guilt for even thinking such thoughts and continue to suffer alone.

There should be no stigma, no shame, no battle to fight in utter loneliness.

Fighting off the nagging feeling of powerlessness, there remains another question. What can we do to ensure that someone like Deb does not have to struggle needlessly alone? I was moved by the active choice of my mother and coworkers to make a pact with one another. This awareness related to mental illness and the lifesaving resources can never be downplayed. On a larger scale, the most vulnerable populations seem to be soldiers returning from active duty and college students. Personally, I know on college campuses nationwide Active Minds is a proven student-led organization that is dedicated to destigmatizing of mental illness as well as creating open dialogue about mental health and providing ample resources to those in need.

Whatever the tragedy we may find ourselves overwhelmed by may we be open to the grace of the Spirit that draws straight with crooked lines.....sometimes very crooked lines. May we have the courage and strength to take action to erase the great divide of suffering alone versus the sharing a load with another.

Thanks for permitting me to broach such a terrible topic. May our bond be closer because of such tragedy and look out for those in our midst the way Deb would.

In the Spring of Life

A quick update for you all. Life is going well. I spend my days setting up hospital beds in the home for hospice patients or delivering phototherapy units to first-time parents with jaundiced newborns. I get to visit with the spectrum of life. My work and daily life is a gift. I am enjoying the retreat in daily life where I pray on my own and then meet with a wonderful spiritual director. I am learning to invite Christ to every corner of my life and here again and again how much I am loved. It is a gift. Here are some other random notes:

*Down the line I am looking into maybe getting a Masters in Divinity so I can be a Chaplain in a hospital emphasized on Mental Health.

*Sooner down the line I am applying for a job as a Medical Spanish Interpreter. Prayers please!

*I need to fix the fuel pump on my new truck before it leaves me stranded somewhere
*I recently scored a 197 Mini-bowling
*I am moving into a house with two other great guys and medical students June 1st.
*I love getting lost in many different conversations in Spanish with patients or co-workers.
*I am becoming addicted to Beatles Rock Band on Wii.
*I've decided I am too emotional over Brewer losses.
*I can't wait to go up north sometime soon.
*After a 8 month hiatus, I am taking guitar lessons again
*Here is a picture of me at the Renaissance Fair caught as a pig thief.

I hope this finds you well. Every good blessing to you and yours! Feel free to say hello.

Loving Nieces to Pieces

Happy Easter everyone! I wanted to spread some of my own spring cheer by sharing some photo love from two little nieces who are quite photogenic. We've been able to spend a lot more quality time together it is hard to have a bad day when these gals are their glorious selves.

Here is Matt playing with Coryn:
And Josephine with her princess veil (otherwise known as a sofa arm cover(:

As you can see, all is well here. Hope all is well with you!

From Wintry Cold to Sunshine Warm

Driving through the night and into the dawn on Interstate 65 our weary eyes nearly turned in unison to the review mirror at which we cried out, "Are you kidding me? Is this really happening?" We had driven more than 1,000 miles south from wintry Wisconsin to vacation in Florida only to find that the digital temperature readout flashed 32 degrees.....the same temperature as back home.

And that was how the first week in the Sunshine State felt; chilly and frosty. I have found it difficult to explain the roller coaster ride of emotions I have felt in recent months, but the unpleasant weather seemed to capture my feelings unfortunately well. Here I was on vacation with no cares or concerns with those I loved most and I felt overcome by lowliness. I wanted to shout out "I need! I hurt!" I don't know what I needed or what I was being hurt by, just that I was in need, I was hurting. It is utterly confusing to watch dolphins jumping and diving or my little neices laughing and playing and not feel at all connected to their excitement and natural beauty. I guess this is what it feels like to be stuck in a depressive episode. Each time I look to the rear view mirror and exclaim, "Are you kidding me? Is this really happening.....again?" It is like being stuck in a maze with terrible deja vous. Everything is strikingly familiar except the way out. So you stumble through, yet again, and wait for the roller coaster to change direction.

The good news is the weather finally warmed up in Florida. By the end of the first week, I even got sunburned :) The tide began to turn my way and beautiful moments like flying a kite with little Josephine became actual joys, not just passing illusions. I was no longer a bystander in my own life. A particular highlight happened one morning on a beachside run. I stopped to stretch while gazing at the sunrise. As I began a short prayer my hands grasped for the sand in front of me. Just below the surface my fingers curled around a perfectly smooth and colorful shell. I marveled at its unique flat shape, almost like that of a sand dollar. Yet its white smooth surface was delicately decorated with a purple swirl. It was if my eyes were opened to beauty once again. I looked around and began to notice this same family of shells all over. Getting excited, I returned back to the source of grace, my prayer. Then a strange invitation came. I felt a whisper lead me to scan the beach, find another beautiful shell, pick it up with love, reach towards the sky and say aloud, "Adam, I found you. You are precious to me." I repeated this until my hands were full of this unique kind of shell. I felt more loved and more myself than I felt in a long time.

Since coming home, I've been adjusting to the roller coaster rides. Maybe you know exactly what I'm talking about and understand the confusion. I find it helps to cry out, "I need! I hurt!" even if I don't know what exactly. Eventually the storm passes and the sun warms the chill. This week has been particularly special in that I feel that I have broken the roller coaster cycle for once. All the hard work has paid off. It feels good to see progress. It feels good to feel and be myself.

Cause for Celebration

Today something miraculous happened. For the first time in my life I repaired not just ONE, but THREE appliances...... on my own.

All those years convinced I was not mechanically inclined?

Ha!

Yes, I laugh in your face. Today, you are a liar.

Since returning home from the Jesuit Novitiate, it has been a gift to work for my father's appliance repair business. I cannot properly explain the feeling when you take a dryer apart very slowly, worried you might forget which crucial piece or screw goes where. And on top of it all you are able to identify the cause of the unwanted noise, in most cases, a bad belt. Replacing the belt with a smile, I crossed my fingers and I pieced the machine back together. What a simple success it was to plug the machine back into the wall turning it on only to hear the machine running smoother than before. Ahh, oh the feeling of productivity again, how you make me happy.

Any dryer complaints? Ask away.
Next stop for conquering inward lies: dishwashers!

Invictus

Today I was surprised to find a small rectangular package in the mailbox. It was postmarked from my book club friend, Brittany. Basically we swap our latest book recommendations to one another. The problem was, we had just swapped...so what was this package about?

As I impatiently pulled back the strongly secured cardboard in the crisp winter air outside the mailbox I thought back to think if she had actually returned my last novel and if this was the belated return....which would be a shame because we just caught up in person just days before and she could have saved on the postage.

I was thrown off again when i saw my view was blocked by paper stuffed around the smaller black rectangle i assumed was my old book. Pulling the paper out I realized it was a frame of some sort. I peeled the paper cover to protect the glass and found a poem entitled, Invictus.

I smiled and remembered our conversation.

It was New Years Day and I was having a rough week. I had recently been told by the Jesuits that it would be best to return home. In asking them when I might be ready to return, the reply was, "at least 2 years." Break ups are never easy and I guess that goes for vocations that you fall in love with. I would have to fall out of love with a life I had been discerning since I was a young boy watching my older brother introduce me to his Jesuit High School.

So appropriately on New Years, I was with my good and old friend Brittany when I could not face many family or friends at all with the loss and confusion I was feeling. We talked about my unexpected return home and the reasons why. I confided in her my vast sense of sadness and darkness. But I shared with her my recent favorite movie quote; yes from the famous story of Nelson Mandela, Invictus. In the movie he is able to motivate a whole nation from apartheid to a more whole and reconciled South Africa with the words,

"I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul."

I told Brittany that he gave me hope. Hope to believe beyond grief. Hope that restores faith in a broken heart to dare to love again.

And so Brittany went home and dug up her old English Literature book from our days at Marquette and recognized the poem she had read in class. In her note she says, "I ripped this poem out of Norton's Anthology of English Literature from my sophomore year British Literature 023 class at Marquette. I figured you could use it more than I could right now. I hope it brings you some peace of mind and perhaps a little confident reminder of how unconquerable you are my friend."

I leave you with the poem in it's entirety by William Ernest Henley. He wrote this as he was being hospitalized for his foot been amputated at the ankle. After reading the poem it makes sense that the movie makes of Invictus choose this poem. Hopefully it is evident why these words mean so much to me at this time.

For all those who have generously reached out to me these transitioning last weeks, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I apologize for my delay, but I've had to grieve and reorient myself with my Lord again. I am doing and feeling much better and look forward to reconnecting and reliving our friendships. Every good blessing to you and yours today and always:

Invictus*

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeoning of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate;

I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley, 1875

* Invictus is latin for unconquered