The Deacon. Thomas Fargnoli

      “I mustered up a smile and told Mrs. McFadden that I had to go and that I would return later to give her Communion. As I walked to the elevator, waves of emotion came over me. I felt like running away. My plans for visiting a few more patients and then going for my coffee on this beautiful spring morning were replaced with, ‘Dear God, what can I do?’ Just before stepping into the elevator, I ducked into the men’s room. I looked at myself in the mirror. The normally cheerful face was one of panic. The gray shirt and Roman collar seemed inappropriate for the task I was about to perform. None of my CPE training prepared me for what I was about to do. As I looked at myself in the mirror, thoughts of total inadequacy filled me. ‘How can I help them? Who am I to help them? I don’t deserve to be wearing this collar, I am not a priest—just a retired engineer!’ I knew the source of these thoughts. The Evil One knows how to get to me—he is very good at what he does. I had to fight him first before I entered that emergency room. I went to the hospital chapel, brought out my CPE Transition Prayer and prayed that I may be a channel of Christ’s peace for those parents who needed his peace now more than anything. I took a deep breath and approached the emergency room.”

      “Nancy was waiting for me. ‘Deacon Tom! Thank you for coming.

      “I will do what I can.

      “‘The mom and dad are in Room ER-7 and the daughter is in ER-12.’

      “‘The daughter?! I thought she didn’t make it!’

      “Nancy had tears running down her face. ‘She didn’t, but she is here. The mom wants to see her but she is so distraught and she is on an IV! Perhaps you can talk her out of that.’

      “‘But, is the daughter… is she… oh God… is she burned from the fire?’ I am sure my face was not showing that I was capable of conveying any peace to this couple.

      “Nancy just looked at me, ‘I don’t know. Let me take you to the parents.’

      “As I walked through the ER, all the doctors and nurses knew where I was going. I tried to muster up all the faith I could by continuously saying to myself, ‘Dear Jesus, be with me….Dear Jesus, be with me.’

      “When I walked into ER-7 with Nancy, I saw the mother lying on the bed with an IV attached to her arm. Her husband was standing by her side holding her hand. I started by hugging the father saying the only thing that came into my mind, ‘I am so sorry.’

      “As I was hugging the father, the mother exclaimed, ‘Father, thank you so much for coming!’

      “I moved to the other side of the bed, holding her hand, as the father stood on the other side holding her other hand. Nancy left when she saw I was ‘okay.’ ‘A priest from your parish will be here in a while,’ I told them. ‘I am a chaplain here at the hospital and a deacon from Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish.’ After just holding her hand and listening to her sobs for a while, I asked, ‘Is it okay if I say a prayer?’ The mother nodded, so I just held her hand and opened myself to the Holy Spirit. I do not recollect the exact words of the prayer but tried to let both of them know, somehow, that Jesus was with them and their daughter. Naturally, the tears and sobs kept flowing, along with unbelief of what had transpired in their home just a few hours earlier. I just listened and held her hand. I knew that the only thing I could really do for them was just to be there for them. The time seemed to stand still. She just kept squeezing my hand as if it was a lifeline for her. The parents were probably in their sixties and, as I found out, their daughter was a teenager with special needs.

      “The father expressed to me that he would like to see his daughter. I hope my face didn’t reflect the panic I felt when I heard his request. I had no way to deal with that request other than to hand it off to the nurse the next time she stopped in to check on the mother. The only prayer that I remember saying to myself was that the priest would show up soon.

      “Soon after the request, the nurse walked in and before I could say anything, the father asked the nurse about seeing his daughter. The mother knew she could not muster up the strength for that and, under the circumstances, the staff was concerned more about her health. The mother looked up at me and asked me, ‘Father, would you please go with my husband?’

      “I looked at the nurse as she looked at me. She said that she would take us to see the daughter. I nodded and slowly walked with the father, leaving the room and walking down the hall. Many things crossed my mind as we approached ER-12. It seemed like hours and then the nurse escorted us into the room. The girl was covered and as we approached her, I could feel the father trembling as I held his arm. The nurse slowly turned down the sheet covering the daughter. As we looked upon the face of the daughter, the father almost fell—I was supporting him with my arm around his waist. The girl’s face was darkened, but not burned, thank the dear Lord. I found out later that she actually died of smoke inhalation, not from the flames. I said a prayer over her body as I held the father. He bent over to kiss her and then I nodded to the nurse who escorted us back to the mother’s room. When we came back into the mother’s room, Father Mike was there with the mother. I knew Father Mike from assisting him with the Sacrament of the Sick on various occasions at the hospital. I was so happy to see him there.

      “I stayed for a while as Father Mike consoled the parents and prayed. Eventually, when I saw that Father Mike was in his element with respect to providing them with pastoral care, I decided to leave. The parents thanked me for being there for them. I mustered up a half-smile and hugged them both and quietly left the emergency area. The emergency area was close to the exit so after standing in the hallway for a while, I decided to leave the hospital. I was thinking that tomorrow is another day and that I will give Mrs. McFadden Communion tomorrow. I was just not up for visiting any more patients that day.”

      Rick finished writing some notes and then looked up at me. “Wow!” he said. “That was quite a day, Tom. Despite how uncomfortable that experience had to be for you, it sounds like you were meant to be there for that family.”

      “Yes, I suppose that is the essence of pastoral care—just being there for them and that ultimately is what we learned in two semesters of CPE.”

      “Yes, and now I would like to fill in some of those blanks. You mentioned CPE a few times and how not even that training could have prepared you for the day of the fire, but I think your training was pretty good. Could you tell me about CPE and how you became involved in hospital ministry as a deacon?”

      As he asked me this question, I smiled, because all in all, I loved being in hospital ministry. “Well, when I was in formation to be a deacon, I was required to take two semesters of CPE training. CPE is an abbreviation for ‘Clinical Pastoral Education.’ Think of it as training focused on caring for patients. Caring in a pastoral sense, by showing concern for the patients, listening to them and generally comforting and encouraging them as appropriate. As a part of that class, I had to set up a schedule with a local hospital to visit patients. So, rather than just sit in a classroom and talk about techniques for pastorally caring for patients, we (my brother diaconate candidates and I) all had to conduct actual visits to apply those caring techniques with actual patients. When we met as a group, we discussed our experiences under the guidance of a mentor from the training program. In this way, we all learned how best to deal with the various situations that arose from a multitude of patient visits. One by one, we would detail our visit starting with when we first walked into a room, our greeting, our conversation, our overall observations, right down to what we said and what the patient said. These interactions were called ‘verbatims.’”

      I could see that Rick was interested. “Could you give me an example of some of the things you had to include on a verbatim?”

      I decided it would be best to just print one of my verbatims and hand it to Rick. “Keep in mind they vary as much as the patients varied, but I am sure you will get the gist of a given visit. Just keep in mind that, in the beginning, I was learning—we all were—so the early verbatims echoed our lack of experience.”

      Rick looked over the verbatim as I pointed out some of the key parts, such as why the patient was in the hospital, my first impression when I walked into the room, and then a complete interchange between me and the