I have been incredibly naive. AGAIN. For some reason, I thought my monastery was immune. Immune to gossip, to back stabbing, to myriad petty and foolish cares by those who don't realize that we are playing in a game that has an ending. Today my coworkers showed otherwise. I thought that by caring for the dying, we were all focused and driven to become just a little better, a little more knowledgeable, a tiny bit more mature. But as always, I was wrong. Today it happened again. A knife, thrust into me, into the very heart of me. Oh, how it hurt, how it stung, and then I cried. Not much, mind you, but some. I tried very, very hard to control the tears.
How could this happen to me? I have done all I could, I thought they were happy, I thought I did my best, I thought they liked me. And perhaps they do. But now it is tainted. It can never, ever be the same. I trusted that it was ok, and somehow, it wasn't. Our relationship is tenuous now. I don't even know if they know. But I know. Once again, I have to constantly look over my shoulder, to worry, to fret, to think over and over "How can this happen?"
Then, I went on. You have to go on. And in the going on, I felt better. I saw my patient who is dying and she told me "I'm ok." But she's NOT ok. She's incredibly ill, but she said "I'm ok." So who am I to think that my little petty gossipmonger should matter? In the grand scheme, it doesn't matter at all. I was brought right back to what matters in my hospice monastery. The patient. They matter. They matter so very, very much and nothing. NOTHING. Will stop me from wanting the very best for them.
Maybe I need to try a little harder. We shall see. I will try because in all of my life, nothing has ever mattered more to me than these patients matter. I won't let the others bother me, and I will continue to do what matters. I will care for the dying. To hell with the rest.
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