Just days before Hurricane Sandy hit the East Coast I spoke in New Haven Connecticut; this is where I lived during my psychiatric residency at Yale from 1967- 1970.
I addressed a Nursing Leadership Forum looking at the future of healthcare, I followed a technology expert from Johns Hopkins who suggested that better nursing care and job satisfaction would come through the mastery of new technologies. When I spoke, I encouraged them not to exchange the holding of hands and touching of hearts for the ease of handheld computers and video cameras that allowed distant observation. The source of their greatest joy and satisfaction was what brought them into nursing, reaching out to patients to promote healing. A nurse’s connection with a patient has always represented the soul of medicine,
I spoke on a Friday afternoon, the Jewish Sabbath (shabbos), and told them a story about how I held my mother’s hand and sang to her on her deathbed. My mother was an observant woman, and one of the highlights of her week was lighting the Shabbos candles, Every Friday night when lighting the candles, she covered her eyes because she didn’t want to be blinded by the light that signaled the coming of the Messiah. Even when he didn’t come, she would always then put her hands on my head to bless me, and I felt her unconditional love. After I left home, I made it a habit to call her on Friday nights; for her if the Messiah didn’t arrive, my call might be the next best thing.
It was a cloudy Saturday as I strolled nostalgically through the streets of New Haven. I went back to Yale, and then to the apartments where we lived. Two of my daughters started school there, and where my third was born here. Our apartment was next to a park, and every Sunday we walked through it to get the New York Times at the drugstore. They’d get a sweet treat, and on the way home we’d sit under a ramada and look out over Long Island Sound while I recited the same poem.
That Saturday I walked through the park to the drugstore that no longer existed, but the ramada was still there. I sat and looked over the water, felt my girls at my side, and recited the poem. Tears trickled down my cheeks, a beam of sunlight pierced the clouds, and in that flash of light I felt my mothers hands bless me. The Messiah comes on shabbos and the message is always, love
This is the season of Thanksgiving Relatives, Thank you is the simplest, most heartfelt prayer I know. Say thank you for the love that’s been given to you, and spread it around.
Read your most recent post-I, too, experience a bit of nostalgia when I go to Washington, DC to visit family. My time spent at Georgetown University was special and I recently was back to wander through the campus after a significant hiatus. My, did the memories flow as if it were only yesterday. And yes, there were a few tears too. Always a pleasure to review the current Schlagbytes! Take care. DW
thank you Schlag for the sweet tears you brought to my eyes today
Dr. Carl,
Thanks so much for sharing the memories (and message) of your mother’s love – and the sweet reminiscence of your simple, joyful time with your girls. It was delightful to “walk with you” today…
Will you share the poem that you recited with us? I somehow feel incomplete reading about it but not hearing it too…
With love and admiration,
A fellow traveler…
Jeff Villmer – St. Louis
thank you dear one … blessing and honour to you and yours …
if it would be appropriate, might you share “the poem” ???
in spirit, armand
Thanks relatives and here’s the poem by an anonymous English poet.
I like to come to this quiet place
and breathe the air that ruffles my face.
And gaze upon thee in silent dream,
for in thy lovely and lonely stream
an image of that calm life appears
that won my heart in my greener years.
I like coming to this place. It makes me happy. It is so true what is said about the need for touch. Modern medicine is becoming almost a ‘no hands on’ trip. How sad. Nursing has always been about touch. I wish I had your mother’s hands to bless me in my journey of grief right now. Thank you for your articles. Thank you. Anne
I’m blessing you with my hands and her heart. Peace on your journey Anne
Reading this after Thanksgiving makes me even more grateful for all that I have.
Your advice to nurses is so well-spoken. It seems like in psychiatry that nurse practitioners are just following us psychiatrists into doing med checks at an even cheaper reimbursement rate. More than even touch, though, or in addition to touch, your touching reminiscence reminds us of the unexpected spiritual connections we can have with patients and other loved ones. Stevie
I am so deeply moved by the story about your mother and the photos that followed. Such an image this tiny woman that birthed and loved this gentle giant. I love picturing you with your little girls in those days of ritual: same store, same poem, same distant view out to the sound.
LIfe is so precious, and your words help me articulate these whispers in my soul. thanks so for your sharing.
Hi Mindy and glad we’re together on the healing journey. :O)