The Deacon. Thomas Fargnoli

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      To Dorothy,

      Thank you Lord for bringing us together.

      The Hospital

      “I was sick and you visited me…”

      Mathew 25:36

      As Dorothy and I were having our second cup of coffee, we were reminiscing about our first year of marriage. We both agreed on how fast the year had flown by. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that the things that happened over the last five years actually happened. I often catch myself just staring at Dorothy. She is such a beautiful woman. People come up to her wherever we go and compliment her on her hair. I always interject, “How about my hair?” Since she became allergic to dyes, she let her hair become its natural color, kind of a silver and black combination. That, plus her magnificent complexion, made her look many years younger. I often told her that people must think I am out with my daughter instead of my wife. Our conversation was interrupted as my phone rang. Dorothy asked, “Who is calling so early in the morning?”

      I looked at my phone, “Unknown.” For some reason, I decided to answer this even though it was probably just another robo-call. The voice on the other end identified himself as Rick Minder, a reporter for the Courier-Post, a local South Jersey newspaper.

      “Hello, Tom, I’m doing an article on the role of deacons today in the Catholic Church and, while interviewing a few deacons, I was given your name. I was told you served as a hospital chaplain. I would like to know more about your ministry. Would you be willing to sit down for an interview sometime this week?”

      Looking at Dorothy and shrugging, being totally caught off guard by the call, I responded, “Rick…I appreciate the call; It sounds like an interesting article, but I’m no longer a deacon. Good luck with the article, have a nice day.”

      “Don’t hang up, Tom! I know you are no longer a deacon—that’s another reason why I want to interview you.”

      I could see Dorothy looking at me, wondering what was going on. “Rick, could you hold on for a moment?” After he agreed, I covered the phone with my hand and informed Dorothy, “It’s a reporter from the Courier, he wants to interview me on my hospital ministry and why I left.”

      Dorothy looked concerned, “Oh Tom…ask him to call you back later. We should talk about this.”

      I agreed with a nod and continued the call, “Rick, can you give me a call back later today? We’re in the middle of something right now.”

      “Sure Tom, no problem, how’s 4 o’clock this afternoon?”

      I agreed and hung up. Looking at Dorothy, I sensed her concern. She was always truly concerned about me. I loved that about her. Who wouldn’t? She was the first to offer her thoughts on this call: “Tom, you have gone through so much over the last few years and your wounds have finally started to heal. Do you really want to open things up again?”

      “In some ways, no, but in other ways, this may give me the opportunity to tell my story. Dr. Raush has been asking me to write things down. Perhaps this article can be a way to do that. In his terms, a cathartic exercise.”

      After we talked more about it, we agreed that I would pursue the interview. When Rick called back, we set a date for him to come over on Tuesday. That would give me some time to collect my thoughts. I had no problem talking about my hospital ministry—it was a ministry that I truly felt called to do and, as far as my overall time as a deacon, well, that was an incredible five years encompassing so many experiences, all of which were tremendously rewarding. There was no doubt in my mind or heart that I was called to be a deacon and I put everything into it. Most people are not aware of the rule in the Catholic Church that when a deacon’s wife dies, he can no longer pursue another loving relationship that leads to marriage. I wonder if Rick even knows that. Making my decision to leave a ministry that I loved was not easy, nor would it be an easy matter to describe, but I figured I would soon have my chance.

      On Tuesday morning, Dorothy was not home when Rick arrived. I was at the door when he pulled up. I was surprised that he drove a rather older model car. I waved at him from the door to confirm he had the right house. After he parked, he walked up to the door with just a note pad. I guess I was expecting an iPad or laptop, or something more modern. After we introduced ourselves, I asked him where he wanted to sit—office, kitchen or living room.

      “The living room is fine. You have a beautiful home.”

      “Thank you, can I get you a cup of coffee?”

      “That would be great, just cream or milk would be fine.”

      Rick had dark brown hair, an average build, and strong facial features. There was a calmness about him. As we sat with our coffee, we got to know each other a bit. I told him that I used to be a paperboy for the Courier, but actually made more money with the Bulletin. It was strange—I felt as if I knew Rick, but after we went through all the places where we may have crossed paths, nothing came up. I quickly realized that he was seriously interested in what I had to say both by his expressions and by the questions he asked me from time to time for clarification. In any event, I found Rick to be very friendly and professional.

      Rick started out with his first interest, namely, my hospital ministry. “From speaking to other deacons, Tom, it’s interesting how they wound up involved in various ministries—some with the parish they were assigned to and others with more specific diocesan-wide ministries, such as prison ministry or hospital ministry. I would love to hear about your hospital ministry, how you came to be involved in hospital ministry, the training you underwent, and just your daily life in the hospital. But I would like to start in a rather unique way if you don’t mind.”

      “Sure, it’s been a while, but I am sure I can provide an accurate picture of hospital ministry through the eyes of a deacon.”