Today I stood in a trauma bay and was reminded how quickly life can end.
A man with violent wounds to his face and neck did not survive. His family gathered in shock, their world rearranged in a single afternoon. We stood with them for hours as they tried to process the unthinkable. In the middle of their grief, they thanked us — simply for being there. That kind of gratitude humbles you. It reminds you that presence matters.
Later in the day, we visited two men whose lives have also changed forever. Both sustained spinal cord injuries. Both are now paralyzed. And yet — they smiled.
One of them loves chocolate ice cream. So we ordered small cups of Häagen-Dazs and keep them in the freezer, bringing one up each day. When we walked into his room with that little cup, this middle-aged man lit up like a 10-year-old child. His joy was immediate, unfiltered, and real.
In a trauma bay, I saw how quickly life can end.
In a hospital room, I saw how stubbornly joy insists on staying.
Trauma does not erase light. Paralysis does not cancel sweetness. The body may be broken, but joy still finds a way in — sometimes through a spoonful of chocolate.
I went into those rooms thinking we were there to minister. But the truth is, they ministered to us. They definitely ministered to me. Their resilience, their gratitude, their acceptance of what cannot be changed, their ability to smile in the midst of it all — it was sacred ground.
Today was exhausting.
It was heavy.
It was emotional.
And it was holy.
And I am grateful! I pray you are, too!
Father Jerry