Poetry Friday: Awaiting Death

I’ll try to keep this short for all of your sakes and my own. (Sorry…it’s not short. I got going and couldn’t stop.)

We came home from our Caribbean respite last Friday, stayed in the Twin Cities Friday night to Saturday, had a quick breakfast with two of our sons and one of their girlfriends on Saturday morning, toured our youngest’s new art studio, and drove back to our cabin in the Wisconsin Northwoods.

We had been gone for 30 days.

Before that, we spent much time at my Dad’s in Western New York. Ten weeks to be exact between June and January. June was when his health took a downward turn. My dad is a trooper. He delayed treatment for his own Lymphoma when my mom got sick in 2021.

His reasons? He had to take care of her. She had a lengthy hospitalization in the fall of 2021 and miraculously was able to return home after 55 days as an inpatient: first in the ICU for a week, then in a transitional care unit, and finally in a state-of-the-art long-term care facility.

Despite everyone else’s opinions, he brought her home. She lived almost two more years, dying at the end of July 2023.

Now we are watching him die. It’s hard. I’ve done some hard things in my life – especially my life as a NICU nurse – including holding dying babies in my arms or consoling the parents of an ill or preterm baby that died. But, watching my dad die while providing care for him has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

He’s starting to lose the ability to cognate efficiently and there’s that all too familiar blank gaze in his open eyes. He knows we are here. He calls us by our names, Jim and Carol. He grabbed my arm the other day and said, “I love you, honey. I’m sorry.”

Thankfully, my basic nursing skills have come back naturally, even though I never did adult nursing. What I was taught in nursing school about body mechanics, skincare, hydration, medications, nutrition, and end-of-life care has all returned.

I told him I loved him and that were here because we were able and wanted to care for him. He had nothing to be sorry for.

To that he replied, “But I’m such a mess.”

He’s 88. It’s okay to be a mess at that age.

My husband and I were able to wash him up yesterday. He wasn’t happy about it but it needed to be done. At some point, modesty goes out the window because it has to. I needed to check his skin and keep it clean. Skin breakdown is a road no one should go down if it can be prevented.

There were changes this week in his needs (escalated) and a change in care providers – his neighbor, a 37 yo single woman, had been caring for him during the last ten days. My sister, also a retired nurse, had been his care taker during the month we were gone.

But, Murphy’s Law occurred and her husband had an accident on the ice. She’s been in Buffalo, 70 miles away, with him since. Thank God for self-less neighbors.

Of course, he has a hospice team, none of whom I’ve met or talked with since he started hospice the first week we were gone. The plan is to talk with them on Monday about the long-term picture. At this point, I’m not sure about hospice and what they provide.

A plan had been in place for home health aides but my dad changed his mind and refused their service the day before it was to start. I was alerted to this by my Dad when I was hiking on St. John, on the side of a mountain with poor cell service and connectivity. By the time I was able to get hold of my sister and the neighbor, things had mushroomed, and my dad and sister weren’t talking.

Not the end to our trip that I wanted. A few weeks of respite went out the window with one poorly connected phone call and the inability to text or call back for eight hours.

I’ve learned a lot of things during this experience. One is that I love my dad and feel good about being able to care for him, even though it’s been difficult at times. I know I’ve done my best for him.

Another thing I learned is that we all handle stress in different ways. I am a communicator. I like to talk things through before I act. Not everyone does.

I follow instructions but don’t dictate what others should or should not do. Does this make me a follower and not a leader? I don’t think so. It means I’m not a micro-manager. If I have a responsibility or obligation, I will move the earth to get it done.

My Dad loves me. He’s been a good husband and father. He was a good provider. He raised two daughters to be independent and caring people. He was a good role model, as was my mom.

Were there things that I’ve done differently than my parents? Sure.

I have different political views. But when it comes down to it, all that matters is love and that you show it in your own way.

And, finally, there are good, good people in this world. You only have to find them. And, sometimes, if you’re really lucky – they just appear! My soul needed to know this right now.

Since this is a Poetry Friday post, I need to include some poetry. The night before last, I had trouble falling asleep. At 2:30 am, when I was still awake, my mind started contemplating death – I felt its presence in the house.

I won’t share the poem in its entirety but here is the start:

In My Father’s Words (Tentative Title)

The door is flung open, 
Death, can’t you see?

I’ve been sitting and waiting
For you to come, take me.

I do not fear what you bring,
The end of my life.

For it has been long and good, 
Now take me to see my wife.

My body is worn, 
Working no longer.

It’s run out of options,
Now take me, yonder.

I beg of you Death,
I’m tired of waiting.


© WIP Draft, All Rights Reserved,
Carol Labuzzetta, 2025

Poetry Friday is hosted this week by Laura Purdie Salas. Thank you for hosting, Laura! Please visit her blog for more poetry goodness.

I want to take a minute to thank this wonderful community of ours. I’ve drawn strength and support from all of you during this journey with my Dad. Thank you! During my brief time at home, I was able to open the New Year’s Postcards sent to me, too. Those were like hugs for me. Thank you!

Lastly, a small bright spot in this last week was that I had a second article (in one month) boosted on Medium. A boost means it is distributed to more readers! It’s been harder and harder to obtain boosts. But my last two have been on climate change and natural resource conservation. Perhaps, I’m finding a niche!

Here is the friend link: (if it posts).

View at Medium.com

If the article doesn’t post or you cannot read it in its entirety, send me your email and I will send a friend link to you so you can read it! You can post your email in the comments or send it to me at labcar81@gmail.com. Thanks.