“Lift her up, Lord! Take that fluid from her body. I’m going to keep on praying to you day and night... Almighty God, make her well. Which will be a great testimony to you for all patients and doctors and nurses to see.” These were prayers of the sister of a 47-year-old black Baptist woman who was critically ill with cancer.

This loving sister and family saw me, as hospital chaplain, being sent by their god to help “raise up” their loved one to renewed health. “Every time she has to go for a test, you come through the door,” the sister said, “and you say a prayer, and she gets a little better.” Again, “You always come at the right time. Pray that her oxygen level goes up.” Later, even the patient’s uncle greeted me with, “The last time you prayed her kidneys opened up.”

On another occasion, the intubated and medicated patient’s sister and a female friend were clapping their hands and singing to her: “What a mighty God! He will raise you up!” And when the patient slowly opened her eyes in response, the sister excitedly pointed to her face, and they clapped and sang all the louder: “What a mighty god! He will raise you up!” Then they yelled to her, “Fight it, Martha!! Fight it, Martha!” Afterwards, I asked the patient’s nurse whether such loud singing and clapping might not be helpful to the patient. The nurse took care of my concern with, “They need to be in the room with her.”

During another visit, the patient’s sister said to me, “She’s going to make it. She’s a tough cookie.” I responded, “You are always here for her.” The sister replied, “She’s always been there for us.”

The patient’s partner of many years was like-minded in his religious belief. He was at the patient’s bedside daily, and often stayed through the night. He believed “God is going to help her get out of here the way she came in.” I looked at the weakened, intubated, apparently dying patient, and wondered if my presence and prayers might be reinforcing this loving family’s need to deny the pain of reality. Still, I was not about to pull the rug of denial out from under their faith. I wanted to continue being there to support them when reality might hit.

Aware of the patient’s medically diagnosed critical condition, my requested prayers focused on the abiding shepherd-like care of the family’s god for their loved one, the strength she found in her faith, the deep love she and her family shared, and thankfulness for her good work in training public school teachers in their work with children and parents. I also repeated words from her sister’s spoken prayers, offered before mine—a sibling’s prayers that contained very human, insightful, and loving references.

The family’s faith in their god’s healing power came through very clearly at a family meeting. The medical team told the patient’s family that they had done all they could for the patient. The response of the patient’s twenty-some-years-old son and spokesperson was, “My mother told me not to give up on her. ‘Don’t let them pull the plug on me,’ she said to me.” He continued, “She’s a fighter, and she wants a fighting chance. And that’s the kind of belief we have in God. She taught me that.” There was this mutual understanding: the medical team had done all it could; now the family members turned completely to their god. Two weeks later the patient died.

An early morning page informed me of the patient’s death, and when I arrived at the hospital, her mother and sister were in her room. When I expressed sorrow, her mother said that her daughter was not dead. I went to the patient’s bedside, and stood across from her sister, who tearfully asked me to offer a prayer. “Don’t you say no prayer for the dead,” her mother declared. “She’s not dead. She is living.” The sister asked me to “say a live prayer,” which I did.

The mother was in denial. She came over to her dead daughter’s beside, pulled up the cover, felt her foot and said, “She’s not dead.” The mother then put her hand on her dead daughter’s forehead and prayed loudly, “In the name of Jesus! In the name of Jesus! Raise her up, Lord! In the name of Jesus!” A few minutes later the sister read aloud the 23rd Psalm over her dead sister.

Later, more family members arrived, and they began to make plans for the removal of the patient’s body to a funeral home. At one point, the mother’s brother said to the patient’s sister (his niece), “What do you want me to do with your mother? His niece replied, “Hug her.” He shrugged, and said, “Oh, come on. Shouldn’t we involve her in the planning?” She replied, “Yes. And then hug her.”

The patient’s son was the last to arrive. He went to her bedside, with tears in his eyes, and stood silently looking at her. A moment later, as the patient’s sister was about to speak to him, she stopped herself, seeing that his eyes were closed and that he was possibly saying a prayer. She waited until he opened his eyes to speak to him. As the son continued to stand by his mother’s body, his grandmother came over to him and evidently repeated to him that his mother was not dead. He reacted, “Grandma, please! She’s dead!” Tears then streamed down his face. And his grandmother walked away.

Later I followed the son out of his mother’s room—remembering him saying that his mother told him not to give up on or let the plug be pulled on her, that she was a fighter, and that such determination is part of their religious faith which she taught him. I went up to him and hugged him, and I expressed sympathy and said, “You are a very loving son.” I continued, “As you said, your mother is a fighter; and she fought very hard; and you gave her every chance.” “Thank you,” he replied, and returned my hug.

The son had assumed a heavy burden of responsibility for his mother’s care. My aim was to affirm his steadfast devotion to her, and help to relieve any possible guilt he may have felt.

Pastoral care is about being a witness to the pain and courage of human love: “Grandma, please! She’s dead!” It is also about being present to family love that says about the one who needs it most, “Hug her.”

Bill Alberts recently retired as hospital chaplain at Boston Medical Center. Dr. Alberts is a nationally known writer and an occasional contributor to Counterpunch. In addition he is convener of the New England Chapter of the College of Pastoral Supervision and Psychotherapy. "Hug Her" will appear in Bill's forthcoming book entitled A Hospital Chaplain at the Crossroads of Humanity. He can be reached at wm.alberts@gmail.com.