"When you drop a glass of wine or a plate to the ground, it makes a loud crashing sound.¬  When a window shatters, a table leg breaks, or a picture falls off the wall, it makes a noise.

"But as for your heart, when it breaks, it's completely silent. You would think, as it's so important, it would make the loudest noise in the whole word or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell. But it is silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain."

Isn't that the truth?

It has been a couple of weeks since Jaime Ortiz drowned.¬  He was a lobsterman.¬  He was Honduran.¬ He was a husband.¬ He was the father of five young children.

He came to Gloucester to support his family. To do that, he fished and lived at the Action Inc. shelter and sent his pay back home for his family.¬ In the few moments between when he slipped off the stern and his captain threw him a line that he couldn't grasp and he died, the Ortiz family's heart was broken.

I hope to never forget Nina Groppo's words the next afternoon, as we gathered with his family at the Fisherman's Memorial to pray together.¬  His beautiful cousin said, "He came here for the American dream."

We all fell silent as our hearts broke.¬ Then Nina spoke, softly, "And now, it is shattered."

No one who gathered with us on that windy afternoon spoke much.¬ It was too heart-breaking.¬ But not an eye was dry — not his cousins', nor his brother's, not mine, not Nina's, nor the Times' photographer's, nor the politicians.

It was a quiet gathering. When your heart breaks, it is completely silent.

Every day, I keep company with men and women and children who are dying, and with their families.¬  It can be a time of profound grace, even in the midst of deep sorrow.¬ ¬ Time to look back, pay honor to, and close out a life is precious time.¬ I love my job.¬ For as long or as short as our patients and their families are with us, I love them.¬ If you asked anyone else on the clinical staff at Hospice of the North Shore, I bet you would find that they love the people they serve, too.

Our job is to help people to die with dignity, unafraid and physically comfortable, having had the chance share the treasures of their hearts and the wisdom of their experiences, with the people they love.¬ 

There are four phrases that chaplains often offer to people who are dying and to those they love the most, to facilitate sacred conversations:

"I love you."

"I am sorry for what has gone wrong between us."

"I ask you to forgive me for the part I had in what went wrong between us."

"I thank you for your role in my life."

Jamie never had a chance to say "goodbye," nor to have those sacred conversations. Neither did his family.¬ When I think back over my years in ministry, what troubles me most are the ragged, unfinished rips in relationships that violent death leaves. Suicide.¬ Accidents.¬ Overdoses.

To die alone, afraid or suffering is an anathema; we all deserve comfort and dignity.

I pray daily for the people I work with.¬ I also pray for every person whose life has touched mine, at every cemetery, every point of death, every home, and the boat that Jamie died working on, when I pass by.

Death is often heartbreaking.¬ There is no doubt about that.¬ But every death is not sudden, nor violent, nor lonely.¬ Most deaths need not be tragic.

After prayers had been said and hugs shared and roses were tossed into the water, Nina and I looked at each other helplessly. Now what?¬ What more can our community do for Jamie's family?¬ We can pray and we can share our resources.

The Gloucester Fishermen's Wives have started a fund for the Ortiz family, through Cape Ann Savings Bank. Donations can be sent to:

The Children of Jaime Ortiz, c/o Amy Mitchell, 160 Main St., Gloucester, MA 01930.

Mitchell is a commercial banking assistant at BankGloucester, and can be reached at 978-283-8200, Ext. 223. Her fax number is 978-283-8943, and her e-mail address is amitchell@bankgloucester.com.

Perhaps you would like to contribute to easing Jamie's family's burden.

Perhaps you would also take some time for sacred conversations with the people you love the most.¬ May God bless you today and always.

The Rev. Rona Tyndall is pastoral care coordinator Hospice of the North Shore.