Processing

...attending the death of the little one I mentioned in yesterday's blog. It was my midday's work. It was heartbreakingly sad, and I was so privileged to be able to support the young mother in her grief. At the last, when it was done, the little one looked so at peace, and so very far away. Of course, he was far away; only his tiny (2.5 lb) body was still with us, a sweet boy at the last.

Of course, the chaplain then has to find a way to process it all.

My solution (one I've used since I was a teenager) was to clean the house when I got home. I'm a lousy housekeeper the rest of the time - my dust bunnies are unto the second and third generation by now - but when my heart aches, I clean.

Doing something tactile and finite seems somewhat Zen-like. It is something I can actually know I did, and completed, or something like that. And I used the real mop, not the Swiffer. There's a metaphor in there somewhere. I just can't think of it right now.

Tears do a good job of washing a kitchen floor.

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.