The Sister
His dying mother needed to talk to a nun. He found one.
I don’t want to tell you much about Ken Whalen’s debut in The Experiment except that his mother was dying in a Catholic hospital and wanted to talk to a nun. To explain further could spoil it for you, like eating too much Halloween candy before dinner, or for that matter too much Halloween candy before Halloween. Safe to say, you’re going to want to share this story.
by Ken Whalen
“Ya either got faith or ya got unbelief
And there ain’t no neutral ground” – Bob Dylan
It was a Friday, but my mind wasn’t on having a few days off.
I was in the hospice ward at a Catholic nursing home in San Antonio, sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to the narrow bed where my mother was lying. My siblings and I had divided the time after she entered hospice so she wouldn’t be alone.
Things weren’t going well.
Mom was agitated. Her mind had remained pretty sharp at 92 even as her body broke down from congestive heart failure and liver problems. She was fully aware that her life was ending, and she was scared.
She slept fitfully, waking every now and then to declare “I can’t breathe. Help me!”
Nurses would come and check her vitals. I would move next to her and hold her hand. She would be reassured that everything was okay. She would fall sleep asleep again and a while later – an hour, two at the most – the whole process would start again.
In the late afternoon, Mom was awake, and we were having a conversation about I don’t remember what. But she started looking past me, across through the open door of the ward into the room across the hall. I turned and saw a custodian cleaning the room. She was wearing a dress uniform and a head covering not unlike a nun’s habit.
Mom peered intently into the room.
“Is that a sister?” she asked.
“No, it’s a custodian Mom. She’s cleaning that room.”
“I think it’s a sister.”
“Mom, it’s not a sister. See, she’s making the bed. It’s a custodian.”
She kept looking into the room and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.
“I want to see a sister!” she proclaimed. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
“Why, Mom?”
“I want to see a sister!” she said again, a little louder this time.
“Mom, I don’t even know if there are any nuns around.” Although, as a Catholic nursing home, you could probably count on a nun being within arm’s reach most of the time.
“I want to see a sister!” Again, a little louder.
“OK, OK. I will try to find a sister. Why do you want to see one anyway?”
“Do I have to tell YOU?”
I laughed. I’m the youngest and I think sometimes she still saw me as a 6-year-old boy.
“OK, hang on a minute. I’ll go try to find one.”
I approached the nurse’s station and explained the situation to the two ladies manning the desk.
“Hmmm, I don’t know who would be available at this time. How about a priest? Father Hernandez is on call.”
“No, she’s pretty adamant that it needs to be a nun.”
“Let me see what we can do,” she said, picking up the desk phone and starting to dial.
I looked around. The station was at the intersection of four hallways, most leading to patient rooms. One led to the recreation room where tables were set up for cards and board games. There was what was obviously a nun standing in that room with her back toward me. I approached her.
“Excuse me, sister?”
She turned to face me. “Yes?”
With one word, I knew I had hit the jackpot. An Irish nun! Mom was Italian, but my late Dad was Irish. Perfect.
I introduced myself and explained that my mom was in hospice and was asking for a nun.
She smiled. “I’m Sister Mary. I’m just visiting here but of course I’ll talk to her. Lead the way.”
We arrived at Mom’s bedside, and she broke into a big smile. “Mom, this is Sister Mary. I’ll let you guys talk.” She sat down in the chair and took Mom’s hands in hers.
I waited in the hall for about 15 minutes, peaking into the room on occasion. Sister Mary finally came out.
“Thank you so much, sister. What did she want to talk about?”
“Well, she really didn’t say that much. I told her that there was no reason to be frightened. She has her faith and that is what she needs to lean on. It’s what’s gotten her through every hard situation in her life and it will get her through this too. And we prayed.”
“I can’t thank you enough. That’s exactly what she needed to hear.”
“I think so too.”
She reached up and touched my face. “And how are you, dear? Are you taking care of yourself?“
My eyes filled with tears. “Yes, I’m trying to,” I managed to choke out.
“You can’t take care of others if you don’t take care of yourself, right?”
I thanked her again and she turned and walked back up the hallway. I returned to the room and Mom was asleep. I sat down and dozed off for a few minutes. I woke with a start and, thinking I should thank Sister Mary again, I got up and went back to the nurse’s station.
“There was a nun here earlier, Sister Mary. Do you know where she went?”
The ladies looked at each other. “Um, there’s no Sister Mary here,” one said.
I’m not going to say there was something supernatural at work here. She said she was just visiting. I do know that from that point on, Mom was at peace. She slept a lot and there were no more ‘I can’t breathes.’ Sister Mary’s reminder to Mom about her faith was the difference.
My brother, sister and I were all there when Mom died on Tuesday morning.
Ken Whalen does communications for a Texas state senator. You can connect with him on LinkedIn here and follow him on Twitter at @kenwhalenatx.
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