There's always reason to give thanks
An elderly woman dying of cancer, without close family or friends, lies alone in a hospital bed on Thanksgiving. A chaplain, assigned to the task of comforting the sick that particular holiday, pauses before he enters the still, dimly lit room.
Down the hall, other rooms echo with the sounds of conversation, even laughter, as patients receive visitors who have made the hospital an extension of their Thanksgiving celebrations. Not this room, though.
The chaplain knows the patient will have little to brighten her day, little to give thanks for. He has watched her, day by day, slowly succumbing to the onslaught of her disease - alone and lonely.
Mustering his best chaplain's smile, he walks into the room. He is greeted by a smile broader - and more genuine - than his own. The patient gestures for him to come to her bedside.
"It's awfully good to see you today, Reverend," she begins. "But why aren't you home with your family?"
He doesn't have a very good answer to that one; he would rather be home with his family. That's probably not the best thing to say, though, so he sidesteps her question. "It's good to see you, too, Mary. How are you today?"
"Well, I'm fine. I've been watching the parades on TV and listening to the children come and go in the other rooms - one of them even walked in here by mistake and almost scared herself half to death 'til I told her it was fine, then she stayed to talk awhile - and I even ate a little turkey for lunch. It's been a good Thanksgiving."
The chaplain was with her until that last statement. A good Thanksgiving?
"Well, Mary," he replied with unintended surprise in his voice, "I'm glad you feel that way."
"Reverend," the smile in her eyes tempered the scold in her voice, "I know this is my last Thanksgiving. And this certainly isn't where I'd most like to spend it. And as much as I like everyone here, I can think of other people I'd rather spend it with - though I guess they're all gone now.
"But, you know, things could be worse. I've got a roof over my head; I'm not in much pain; and I've got good people taking care of me. And I guess I'm just thankful for that."
It wasn't often he found himself speechless, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of what to say.
Mary reached out and took his hand. "And, Reverend, I'm thankful for you. Now you go say hello to some other people and come back later if you get the time."
He gave her hand a soft squeeze. "God bless, Mary. I'll drop by this evening." As he walked out the door, he realized Mary had given him a great deal to be thankful for.
• Dr. Ken Potts is on the staff of Samaritan Counseling Center in Naperville and Downers Grove. He is the author of "Mix Don't Blend, A Guide to Dating, Engagement and Remarriage With Children."