Sometimes, people at the hospital became regular faces. Doctors led that list, of course, being the ones who worked there every day. Nurses were next. Volunteers who had been there for years. The older man who ran the gift shop, the girl who worked at the coffee shop. The priest who came to bless patients before the end.

There was one face, however, that was more known than the others. Even the oldest doctor at the hospital had known her since he was in medical school. If anyone noticed this impossible timeline, they didn't say so. After all, it'd be rude to call a nun old.

Sister Vera was special for many reasons. For one, when she changed her name, she chose to break tradition. Instead of using a biblical name, or a name to represent her own struggle, she chose Vera. Her mother's name.

Secondly, she could only be found in the hospital. Many patients had left the hospital to find her, scouring nearby churches, convents, and private schools in search of the Sister. Unfortunately, no one ever knew her, let alone where to find her.

Thirdly, she had this calming spirit, making the people around her breathe into hesitation. Breathe into relaxation. Breathe into possibility itself.

There was a man who stayed at the hospital for some time about a year ago. He had once been part of a private school and every time he saw a nun go into his mother's room, he would leave. As he told one of the nurses on that floor, nuns made him uncomfortable. Some of the nurses guessed it was because of his age. Undoubtedly, when he went to school, the nuns had administered a sharp slap to the wrist for poor handwriting, but who knows how terrible punishments may have been.

And then Sister Vera came. The man thought about leaving when he saw her enter, but he didn't feel the same kind of uncomfortableness. He felt calm and... safe. Like anything could happen.

The nurse who was working that same night asked the man after Sister Vera had left why he had been okay with that nun. That very special nun.

"She didn't seem like the others," he answered with a hand on his neck and his eyes on the ground. "She seemed... nicer? I don't know how to explain it. I just had faith that she was good and that my mom would be okay."

While her name and her effect on people was certainly odd, it was the conflicting stories people told of her that really drove people mad.

The majority of the hospital's staff and visitors agreed that she wore a black gown and a typical habit. The next most common story is that she wears a skirt, about knee length, and a white tee shirt.

Then there are those who have met a woman by the name of Vera who wears a Tichel and a long skirt to her ankles.

There are some who claim to have met a woman who wears a stunning hijab of rich colors and a maxi dress.

Others say she wears modest clothes. Nothing too flashy or attention grabbing.

Some of the doctors and nurses thought about asking Vera about it. Asking her why so many of the patients had seen so many different women, all named Vera. All with a calm about her. All with the same goodbye of "I have faith it will be okay."

But it'd be rude to ask a nun about her habits, wouldn't it?

So no one asked and no one learned. She wasn't a nun or a muslim or a jew or a buddhist. She was a very old woman, nothing special. She had once been a nurse in the second world war, that's where she learned it all.

On the battlefield, tending to soldiers she knew would die. Having them ask her to please. Pray with them.

So she lied and said she was of the jewish faith, too. And she learned how to recite parts of the Quran. And she knew how to pray in so many languages.

Sometimes, that's all people need. A little faith that everything will be okay, especially coming from someone just like themselves.

But no one asked so no one knew. The woman of many faiths, who held one above all others. The faith of hope.