I was a hospice chaplain when COVID-19 infected the United States. I had paid very little attention to the news and did not know how bad it was. That was until I visited a patient in a nursing home and was informed by the facility three hours later that a resident had tested positive for COVID. I was quarantined for almost three weeks before we even had a quarantine mandate.

It was a Monday morning when a patient’s spouse called and informed me that she had brought her husband to the hospital, and when he tested positive for COVID, he was quarantined. The spouse and family were forced to leave the hospital. The spouse stated to me that her husband became symptomatic, went on a ventilator, and was not placed in hospice. What shocked her was the policy that forced her to remain outside the hospital because of COVID.

I was not ready to emotionally support a spouse who was losing her husband and not able to be with him during his final hours, especially because our conversation was completely on the phone. It was then that COVID became a suffocating force that shifted what was normal in my work. As a chaplain, I knew my role was to provide spiritual and emotional support, and so I attempted to use my skills to bring some kind of peace to the spouse.

I first took her through breathing exercises and asked her to give a life review, or share the story of her husband. The spouse tearfully talked about their 60-year marriage, her husband’s personality, and the shock that she would lose her husband and not be by his side.

After processing, the spouse asked if I could visit the patient at the hospital. At first, I did not know I could go into COVID-positive rooms. The hospital staff informed me that, as a chaplain, I had permission if I wore a gown, face shield, and mask. I informed the spouse that I would provide prayer for the sick—the last prayer for a dying patient—for her. I visited with the patient, who was now on a ventilator and unresponsive, and provided prayer. 

I felt powerless. All the things that I was trained to do as a chaplain—physical presence, eye contact, sitting with patients and family—were taken away, and I had to find a new way to provide emotional support to a grieving spouse. I felt afraid and guilty when I went into the patient’s room. I was already emotionally traumatized, thinking I would give COVID to my own family, and the concept of going into a room where COVID was present scared me. I was so scared that it distracted me from being fully emotionally present  in the room.

After leaving the room, I called the spouse and informed her that I had visited her husband, and he died hours later. I realized that chaplains are the spiritual connection for patients and families in times of need, but we are human, too.