Lasting Impressions

By ELIZABETH PALMER ’13

I encountered a man at the threshold of life and death. His body had grown tired after weeks of fighting. Dialysis had prolonged his life, and each treatment brought more needles, more fatigue, and more days his body struggled to keep going. 

He was ready to go to God. His family longed for him to stay. 

They had buried a son only months earlier. Their grief was raw and disorienting. The thought of another loss felt unbearable. They urged him to continue treatment, to keep fighting, and to remain with them. Their voices carried fear and love.

For weeks, I cared for him and his family. As a hospital chaplain, I listened and invited space for them to speak honestly with one another. His family sat close to him, watching each rise and  fall of his chest. They wanted more time and relief from his suffering. They did not know how to hold both. 

“I will never leave you,” he said. “Even if my physical body is gone.”

He told them he was ready to stop treatment. He spoke of being reunited with the son they had lost. He spoke of God. Tears streamed down their faces. Slowly, they listened and heard one another. Their love widened into acceptance. 

The room grew quieter. He no longer needed to persuade them or protect them from what was coming. Then, softly, he began to sing,

“He’s got the whole world in his hands…he’s got the whole world in his hands…”

His voice was faint and steady; his words a declaration of trust. I joined him in singing. Soon, the nurse practitioner and his family joined him, too. We held him with our voices. His family was no longer trying to keep him. They were loving him as he entrusted himself to God.

As we sang, I felt the weight and the grace of the moment. I stood beside them, present to the mystery unfolding in the room. In reflection, I recognize that my capacity to remain and provide spiritual care had been shaped at Saint Mary’s College.

At Saint Mary’s, I saw women living lives of faith and ministry with compassion and authority. They showed me that I, too, could be a woman of faith, a woman in ministry, a woman who accompanies others at hard and sacred moments of their lives. Because of them, I learned how to be present without turning away. In the days that followed, his family stayed beside him. They held him close, yet they released their effort to keep him. Letting go did not diminish their love. It revealed it.

At Saint Mary’s, I inherited the wisdom of loving like this. Sister Madeleva called it the “relaxed grasp,” holding firmly enough to cherish and gently enough to let go. This way of loving does not come easily. It calls me to greater integrity and courage. It asks me to remain present without turning away and to trust love even when loss cannot be prevented.

Again and again, I am invited into this way of loving. As a chaplain, I witness love refusing to disappear even as bodies grow weaker. I witness faith emerging in the space between certainty and surrender. Even knowing what death will take, I witness people choose one another. 

I still think of this man. I remember the clarity of his voice and his steadfast trust. His suffering was real, and as I stood near enough to witness it, I saw that the deepest meaning of his life was love.

In him and in his family, I saw the love Saint Mary’s taught me to recognize. Love does not leave at the threshold of life and death. It remains. And sometimes, it sings.

May 11, 2026

Elizabeth Palmer ’13 graduated from Saint Mary’s College with degrees in Biology and Psychology. She earned her Master of Divinity from Loyola University, Chicago in 2018. Palmer completed her chaplain residency at the University of Michigan Hospital, and is currently a Certified Educator Candidate in Palliative Care. She’s also the author of the blog Holy Thresholds: Reflections as a Hospital Chaplain.