For all the nursing assistants who show up uninvited to care for the dying.
Uninvited
You enter sacred space uninvited.
These are my last days and
I don't need your help.
You will push and pry,
and strip me of my dignity.
You will uncover and undress,
stealing my modesty.
My journey is almost over.
Just let me be.
You're not welcome. Not now.
You enter sacred space uninvited.
You ask to raise my blinds,
seeking the sun to cheer me.
I hear you hum a familiar hymn as
you bathe my worn-out body.
Your gentle hands caress me,
and I feel your warmth—your
love.
As you brush my thinning hair,
you remind me of happier days
when my mom did the same.
Tenderly massaging my aching
limbs,
you ask about my life.
You're genuinely interested in my
story.
Reminiscing brings a needed
release.
You entered sacred space
uninvited, but now?
Now I welcome you to walk with
me.
I ask you to care for me—to
love me.
My journey is over and I seek
rest.
Your presence gives reassurance.
I know it's okay to cross over.
I can let go.
You entered sacred space
uninvited, but now?
In this moment, I trust you—I
love you.
You are welcomed in my sacred
space
as I say my last good-bye.
