Would You Wipe My Nose

“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.