Powerful Insights from a Hospital Chaplain: An Unforgettable Journey with Thousands of Dying Patients

Joon Park often lingers on thoughts of his patients, even long after they have passed away.

One particular individual that comes to mind is a young man who lived a transient life on the streets. This man had once carried dreams of becoming a musician, but unfortunately, cancer stripped those aspirations away. During his final moments, he expressed deep remorse to Park, confessing his regret for not pursuing his long-cherished dream. In a hauntingly poetic manner, the man's last words manifested as a heartfelt song, depicting a longing for a home that he had never known.

He fondly recalls the woman who tragically lost her newborn triplets, the echo of her scream forever etched in his memory.

The image lingers of that moment when he grasped three delicate hands: one of a fading infant, another of a grief-stricken spouse bidding farewell to their loved one, and the trembling hand of a frightened teenager pleading for his prayers to escape the clutches of death.

Living through various lifetimes is how he describes the experience. Park, who is 41 years old, has been serving as a chaplain at Tampa General Hospital for eight years. Throughout this time, he has provided guidance and support to countless patients and their families. This role resonates with him personally, as he intimately comprehends the depths of despair.

Having experienced abuse at a young age, he found himself admitted to the hospital after attempting suicide.

Oftentimes, he becomes the final and sole person his patients encounter prior to their passing. During this critical moment, his primary objective is to ensure they feel valued and listened to.

"It is a tragic occurrence when a voice remains unheard. I have witnessed numerous voices fade away," Park acknowledges. "Throughout my extensive experience with countless patients, I have come to recognize that each one possesses a unique story that deserves to be shared. It is through the act of sharing that healing takes place."

Park further defines his role as a "grief catcher." According to him, he catches grieving family members as they plummet into profound sorrow and assists them in preserving cherished memories of their beloved who is nearing the end of life.

Sharing his most memorable hospital experiences with his 93,000 Instagram followers and an additional 36,000 on X (formerly known as Twitter), he goes by the username J.S. Park. Through his posts, he strives to bring conversation around dying and mortality into the mainstream, while being mindful of patient privacy by refraining from disclosing any identifying details. Known for offering glimpses into the final moments of his patients, his posts have elevated him to the status of a spiritual role model.

"A few reminders from someone who witnesses grief on a weekly basis:

He believes his childhood prepared him for his job

You don't have to put on a smile through every situation," he recently shared. "A smile does not indicate that they are fine. Similarly, laughter does not imply that they are not feeling sad."

Raised in Largo, Florida, Park, a second-generation Korean, initially aspired to be a writer but eventually pursued psychology in college. Growing up, he was influenced by individuals with diverse religious perspectives, such as his Christian father and Buddhist grandmother. As a result, Park has oscillated between Christianity and atheism, with his spiritual convictions shaped by his personal experiences.

Park recounts enduring both verbal and physical abuse during his formative years, attributing these experiences to his immigrant parents' adherence to a culture that placed a high premium on elderly authority, while neglecting the importance of mental well-being. According to Park, this traumatic upbringing has the potential to be perpetuated as dysfunctional behavior, eventually becoming deeply ingrained within the fabric of a community's culture.

Park acknowledges that he has dedicated a significant amount of his adult life to finding resolution with his past and seeking emotional restoration. He has grieved for the familial bonds he longed for during his childhood. While actively working through his own personal wounds, he sought solace and comfort in spirituality, recognizing the toll that his accumulated trauma had taken on his capacity to connect intimately with others.

Through therapy, introspection, and medication, he has discovered that his wounds can serve as gateways for both pain and beauty to traverse. Embracing his aspiration to become the role model he longed for during his childhood, he found his true calling as a chaplain.

Park is one of several chaplains at Tampa General Hospital in South Florida.

Ivy Ceballo/Tampa Bay Times/Zuma

In 2008, Park enrolled in a seminary school located in Wake Forest, North Carolina. This experience not only enhanced his understanding of Christianity but also paved the way for his future role as a youth pastor. Despite his involvement in the church, Park admits to feeling like an outsider. He yearned for a profession that would allow him to support individuals who had gone through similar traumatic experiences as he did. It wasn't until he discovered chaplaincy that he found his true calling as a voice and a source of comfort for others.

His belief is that his experiences, whether positive or negative, have provided him with a heightened sense of empathy and a deeper connection to patients and their families.

"Prior to becoming a chaplain, the assistance I offered was merely a temporary solution aimed at healing my own wounds. However, it was through chaplaincy that I truly learned to perceive, listen, and genuinely relate to others without any personal motives - solely driven by compassion and a true comprehension."

He calls himself a therapriest

Movies and TV shows often portray hospital chaplains as pious Bible-toters trying to get patients right with God before they die. Park says his role is more encompassing.

He identifies himself as a "therapriest," a unique blend of a priest and therapist, equipped to engage in open conversations with patients on a wide range of topics.

"I strive to be a source of solace, devoid of anxiety or judgment. My purpose is not to change their beliefs or persuade them in any way, but simply to offer comfort," he affirms.

"We are open to engaging in discussions about religion, should they wish. However, a significant portion of our conversations revolve around mental health, crises, and grief. Our aim is to bridge the gap between matters of faith and the inevitability of mortality. We are here to support them in any way they prefer to communicate."

According to Park, his profession has instilled in him a sense of "death anxiety," a fear of losing his loved ones.

"I often find myself sitting with a friend, contemplating the possibility that this encounter could potentially be our final farewell. It's a realization that we are merely fragile paper lanterns, susceptible to burning out at any given moment," he reflects.

However, this awareness has also allowed him to truly embrace and cherish the present moments shared within his relationships.

"When I am sitting with someone now, I am fully present," he states. "I put my phone away and give them my undivided attention, because this conversation could be our last."

Howard Tuch, the director of palliative care at the 1,040-bed hospital, explains that Park and the other chaplains are essential members of a diverse team that provides support not only to patients and families, but also to the staff. Taking care of individuals in their final moments can be emotionally challenging for hospital employees who have developed close bonds with them, Tuch acknowledges.

Park and Samuel Williams have been fellow chaplains at the hospital for years.

Daniel Wallace/Tampa General Hospital

Chaplains provide comfort to patients and their loved ones, Tuch says, but they also focus on who the patient is and whats most important in their lives.

Patients on their deathbed have a common fear, he says

: "I can't count the number of times I've engaged in conversations with families from a medical standpoint," reflects Tuch. "However, the crucial aspect that often went overlooked was acknowledging the individual's identity and attending to their spiritual requirements, which ultimately played a vital role in defining their overall medical treatment plan."

Chaplains at Tampa General play multiple roles. Alongside providing spiritual support and actively listening to patients, they are also readily available during resuscitation efforts. Moreover, they inform family members about their loved ones being hospitalized and are present during instances of death and trauma.

"We provide guidance to the family on their next course of action, whether it is a request for a blessing, a prayer, or simply requiring a religious presence," he mentions.

According to him, sitting beside individuals in their final moments highlights the significance of immersing oneself completely in the present.

And regret is a common theme among his dying patients.

Most of the regrets, he says, come down to: "I only did what everyone else wanted, not what I wanted."

Dying patients also worry about those they are leaving behind, according to him.

"Will my loved ones be alright in my absence? Who will provide care for my mother? Who will accompany my father to his medical appointments? How will my son and daughter manage without me? Even those patients who have come to terms with their own mortality still feel unease when considering the impact of their death on their family," he explains.

"It's a form of empathetic anticipatory grief, experiencing the sorrow of the future loss that others will endure. Our bonds are so strong that we often fret about how our departure will affect those around us."

Its a reminder that patients loved ones face a tough journey after a loss.  But for Park, every prayer uttered, every hand held and every word of comfort is a step toward healing.