I am a chaplain resident at WellSpan York Hospital. It was my first or second day of doing rounds by myself. I was called down to minister to a young woman in the emergency department.

When I arrived, I found the young lady was in turmoil; her baby was dying. The mother was already in nurse Michelle’s arms as she slowly walked her to the operating room, where the baby was getting worked on. I moved to the other side of the mother, and we proceeded to the operating room. While I was lost in my thoughts, trying to figure out what to say and how to help, Michelle was gently and persistently talking to her the whole time with short, yet strong words of comfort.

When the doctor finally came out, he gave us the news that none of us wanted to hear: the baby had passed away. The young mother collapsed to the floor, sobbing. In one smooth motion, Michelle collapsed with her, careful to shield the mother from hitting her head on the wall or hitting the floor too hard. I followed Michelle’s lead on the other side. We both sat with her in silence for several minutes, with our tears soaking into the mother’s hair. Suddenly, Michelle had to gesture to a man with a floor cleaner to stop what he was doing so as not to disturb us. We went inside to see the baby. Michelle held on to her as she approached the bed to see what no one should ever have to see. Michelle was very deliberate in positioning herself in front of a chair, as the mother wasn’t conscious of where she was. The mother asked for a Bible, so I ran to the chapel to retrieve one. While in the chapel, I had to stop and gather myself before leaving, as I was an emotional mess. When I returned with the Bible, the mother was being led away by the patient liaison to be checked in with chest pain.

Michelle had performed a phenomenal service for this young mother, the likes of which I had never seen. Although that was inspiring, it is not the reason I am nominating her for this award. After the liaison left with the mother, Michelle and I were alone in the hall. I didn’t say much at first. I had never witnessed anything like that in my life. I was still flustered. As I started to say something related to the mother’s ongoing care, Michelle stopped me and asked if I was OK. I tried to say yes, but the words never made it to my mouth. Michelle came over and hugged me. It was a kind, motherly, comforting, and yet somehow authoritative hug. I cried on her shoulder for about 15 seconds. As I tried to pull away, she would not allow it. She whispered something in my ear loud enough for my inner soul to hear that I was not done. She was right.

I stood in the hallway with her and cried for another full minute. When she released me, I could see tears in her eyes as well. I stated that this wasn’t her first rodeo, and she said it wasn’t.

Michelle had skillfully balanced herself between showing sorrow and being a steady presence. One of my chaplain colleagues explains how we are expected to behave in these situations. He said we should be like a tree. We are taught to bend and sway as the gale forces of sorrow blow over everyone in the room. Everyone else collapses, but as a chaplain, you must stand firm for them.

That day, Michelle was the nurse and the chaplain. She ministered to all of us, both staff and patient. Michelle swayed with sorrow, but she did not break. Though her bow bent with this burden, she remained steady as we all stood under her branches to protect us from this soaking, sobbing, sad storm. Through our blinding tears, we all reached out for her and held on to her trunk for stability. I could not have done this without her, nor would I have wanted to. I am eternally grateful for her service to me that day.