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“Would you wipe my nose?”  Frances 
hadn't moved on.  She was a failure; stuck
in a rehab centre for years as others came
and went.  She couldn't move a finger.
I've moved on, and other staff; but still
I think of Frances.  Could she still be there?

She was a threat.  Her failure signalled 
to all who came, a fearful possibility.
She listened.  She understood as 
no therapist could – not a failure,
never stuck, always ready to ask.
She'd wrestled – faced out, defeat
and found peace.  She was always there
at Communion, in Communion with those 
who knew that nothing worse could happen.

Before the days of audit, was she cost effective?
Should this remain her home?  for always?
For all, she was an institution that linked us
to the eternal home.  Her worth was known.

“Will you wipe my nose again?”  She was asking, 
receiving, giving; with givers and receivers – one.

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