Dedicated to All Caregivers Who Stand By Us Until Death

Post #20

I wrote the following poem after watching my Dad and then my Mom suffer from Alzheimer's. I had to come to terms with the very real possibility that I might suffer the same decline, and I was considering how grateful I will be to those who are there for me until the very end.

The pandemic is now bringing us more death than we had imagined and many are dying without their loved ones--a very sad situation. Yet, in most cases there are dedicated caregivers working to save and comfort until the end. I hope each and every person who is working to save lives in spite of the risk to themselves know how much they are needed and appreciated--as are all caregivers who stand by us until death.

Who will watch me die?

Who will stand guard that final evening

Before my mind finally forgets to wake?

Will I be left alone

without voice, song, or prayer?

I imagine that a gentle push will do

To move me to the light...

And yet I fear I will stumble there unaccompanied.

Even more, I'm afraid of the lonely hours where I will suffer

Silently encased in unawareness. Separated

From the world of movement by a brain that won't be

Bothered to communicate my needs.

When I hum those last sounds of recognition will

Someone hold my hand and sing

Or will my notes be mistaken for empty groans

By those who've come to change the sheets?

And those long weeks of laying as I disappear?

How often will someone sit with me and cry or

Whisper words of care and comfort? Will there be one

who understands I am not yet gone ?

Though I can only watch with eyes of fear

As people come and go and talk about my absence.

What of those months when I am fed

And lifted from bed to chair

Unable to utter more than syllables

Or to move my trembling limbs?

Will people abstain from visiting my room

Unless they have to bathe my helpless body

Or tend some other chore for which they're paid?

In the years that I have power to walk

But my mind is declining and I search

For a home no longer there, will I have a companion to

Walk with me? Even if I no longer know their name

Will they remember to take my hand in friendship?

Or will they shrink away in sorrow?

Or in disgust?

Will my stuttering be dismissed as babble

or will they try to understand?

Will someone travel to the end with me?

Who --with bravery and compassion--will stay and watch me die?

by, Terri Vaughn