The great medical facilities are a relief for the parents, too

In the words of Jami Gertz we hear not only gratitude, but also a profound truth about the healing of both child and parent: “The great medical facilities are a relief for the parents, too, who don’t have to think about caring for their young ones on their own for a weekend. They have a great time.” At first glance, these words appear simple, a comment on hospitals and rest. But beneath them lies the deeper recognition that care is not only for the body, but also for the weary spirit of those who bear the burden of love.

The mention of medical facilities is not merely about buildings of stone and steel, but about sanctuaries where knowledge and compassion dwell together. These places hold within them the power to ease pain, to prolong life, and to grant a measure of peace. Yet Gertz points out that their greatness extends beyond the patient—they become a pillar for the parents, lifting from their shoulders the relentless weight of constant vigilance. In this way, hospitals and care centers do more than treat illness; they preserve the strength of families.

Consider the word relief. It is more than rest—it is the sigh of a heart long burdened, the release of a body that has carried too much. Parents who care for sick children often stand like sentinels through sleepless nights, giving all of themselves until exhaustion becomes their companion. When facilities of compassion step in, these parents can, for a time, set down their load. And in that pause, they rediscover laughter, hope, and renewal—the very energies needed to continue their sacred task of love.

History offers us many echoes of this truth. During the time of Florence Nightingale, in the Crimean War, hospitals were not only havens for wounded soldiers but also a balm to the families who prayed from afar. Letters carried home the reassurance that their sons were not abandoned in mud and agony, but cared for by hands skilled and devoted. This reassurance was itself a healing, for the family’s suffering is bound inseparably to the patient’s suffering. When one is tended, both find peace.

Gertz also reminds us of joy, saying that parents “have a great time.” This is no trivial matter. For in the midst of hardship, joy becomes medicine too. When parents are permitted to laugh, to rest, to breathe, their strength returns, and their children, too, feel that energy. A weary caretaker cannot pour from an empty vessel, but a renewed one can offer love freely. Thus, by giving parents time, the facilities give children something greater than medicine—they give them parents who are whole enough to continue loving with patience and resilience.

The lesson is clear: true healing is holistic. It is not only about curing the sick body but also about caring for the heart, the family, and the invisible web of love that surrounds the patient. To honor this truth in our own lives, we must remember to support not just those who suffer, but also those who stand beside them. Offer respite to the weary parent, comfort to the anxious spouse, encouragement to the sibling who feels forgotten. For in lifting them, we lift the patient as well.

Therefore, take these words into practice. If you know a family burdened with care, offer them relief, even if only for a few hours. Create spaces of support in your community, where caregivers may rest without guilt, and where families may find joy even amidst struggle. And if you are the caregiver yourself, accept rest as a sacred duty, for in renewing yourself, you renew your ability to love.

Thus Jami Gertz’s words rise beyond hospitals and weekends. They teach us that true compassion is wide in its embrace, that to heal one life is often to heal many. Let us remember, then, that medical facilities are not merely houses of treatment—they are sanctuaries of hope, where both the sick and their guardians may find strength, rest, and the blessing of joy.