Helpless...

After years of hearing it you can recognize the voice on the phone, regardless of who it is, and you know what's coming next.

There will be no magic words. There will be no quote from the Fathers that provides illumination. The sacraments will help but they will not take away the coming gauntlet. There's a cry for help and if you answer it you'll not escape a piece of the trauma because to help means that you, too, must go with and through.

While you never seem to quite get used to it over time you come to accept it, the terrible intimacy of holding the hand of someone walking through dark places. You get used to the helplessness, the reality that all of your skills matter little and you, your presence and your ear on the phone in the small hours of the morning, matter most. When words fail, and they often do in the face of mortality, all that's left is a whisper "I'm here".

So it's okay, you're not a bother, call me when you need to and I'll do my best. Don't, though, expect a miracle or lights shining down from heaven or an instant answer. If that happens glory be to God but if not just know that I'm here.