There was an hour unaccounted for in an otherwise packed day, so I decided to make a visit. The woman who had recently moved to assisted living had been part of my college education. But I had to admit that I had barely seen her in recent years. I knew there were people who visited her, and gave her rides. I wanted to offer some attention now that she had landed, and was stranded, in bed. 

I was vaguely aware of where the facility was, and only wandered for a few minutes, finding the entrance. Happily, there was an information desk and a smiling person behind it. When I inquired about the room of the woman I sought, the perky assistant looked at her book. 

"We go down this hall, and around the corner to the elevators..."

"You are coming with me?" I wasn't sure if it was for security or because I might get lost. 

"Well, I mean you." So it was the royal "we". As it turned out, I did make a wrong turn, and she elected to accompany me after all. 

When I gently knocked on the door and announced my arrival, I heard my friend's voice. I walked to her bedside, and was surprised by how much she had aged. I shouldn't have been. In truth, I think she is too. She pointed to the large photograph of herself standing before the mountain that she climbed in Wyoming. The disconnect between the body she inhabited now and the one that served her well loomed large. 

Things she needed were within reach... a phone, a remote, a glass of water, applesauce. The call button was around her neck, and she described a time she had pushed it and waited a long time for assistance. Her stories waffled between the relatives in the photos around her bed, and the nurses who sometimes scolded her for not trying harder to walk. 

A few times she tried to remember details, and trailed off. 

"It doesn't matter." 

I was witnessing the process of letting go of a life that, while well lived, was reaching its end. It occurred to me that this is what chaplaincy is. Being present with someone whose vulnerability has caught up with them at last. 

Once again, she is part of my education. And I think she will be climbing mountains, soon.