He was the first AIDS patient I had ever met, let alone visit.
He was in the hospital and I was a part-time Protestant Chaplain.
I HAD TO VISIT HIM
within the first 24 hours of his admittance;
He was sick. . .
very, very sick. . .
It was 1993
He didn’t say he was gay
. . .I didn’t ask.
I introduced myself and explained why I was coming by to visit him.
I asked if he was comfortable and if there were was a Church or someone he wanted me to contact?
He told me that he grew up Catholic and had fallen away. . .
that he never felt comfortable or was made to feel welcome. . .
He told me that
‘t h e s t o r i e s’
didn’t ever make much sense to him
and felt like it was a little late to make any sense of them now. . .
He told me that he was a professional Ice-Skater/Choreographer
and really missed being with his students;
While we talking an Aide brought in his lunch–
Soup. . .
some orange jiggly jello. . .
a toasted cheese sandwich. . .
a carton of milk. . .
and an extra side of sandwich;
There were tears in his eyes which started streaming down his cheeks. . .
and before I could say another word. . .
“THEY do this three times a day. . .
THREE TIMES. . .
and then walk out thinking I can feed myself. . .”
He half laughed as he started sobbing
“JESUS CHRIST. . . I’M IN HERE BECAUSE I CAN’T FEED MYSELF!”
We both started laughing. . .
I opened up his milk carton and put a straw in it and gave him a sip
I cut his toasted cheese sandwich into small squares and gave him a bite
I brought the bowl of soup to his lips so he could sip it
I put a spoon in the jello and brought a small spoonful of jiggle to his mouth
I wiped his chin when another sip of milk dribbled out
and I held his hand
and I held his hand
and I held his hand
and I held his hand
and asked him if he wanted me to offer a prayer. . .
He put his other hand over top of mine
and didn’t look up
for what seemed like a longer than a significant moment could ever hold;
He spoke very slowly and almost in a sigh:
“You know. . .
I can’t remember the last time that anyone has ever touched me without having to. . .
I can’t remember anyone ever touching me without gloves on or wearing protective clothing. . .
I can’t remember. . .
I can’t remember. . .
I can’t remember. . . .”
he said over and over again.
I broke the trance
by asking him again if it would be okay if I offered him that prayer. . .
I’ll never forget what he said next:
“YOU JUST DID”
I said what you usually do a the end of a prayer as I squeezed his hand:
“a m e n”
T O U C E D
It wasn’t the first time
it certainly hasn’t been the last time
but I’m at the very best of me
when I can’t answer,
t r u t h f u l l y
WHO
TOUCHED
WHO ?
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