reply to post by sled735
I'll try to give a description of the events the night my friend died, almost 3 years ago. I arrived at the nursing home in the late afternoon. Her
80 yr old daughter was there with her and needed to go home for the night (I was 37 at the time). My friend had been unconscious since the morning. I
told her daughter to go ahead and go home and I would sit there for awhile till someone else came to visit. After the daughter left, while no one else
was visiting, my friend awoke. This was around 4:30pm. Not only did she awake, but she seemed to be "all there" mentally and was able to carry on a
conversation. It was the most amazing conversation I've ever had with someone and I feel blessed to have been there when she woke up. She told me
that she didn't understand why it was happening so quickly (her body just decided to start shutting down but she was 99.5 yrs old). She told me that
she knew she wouldn't make it to 100 and wouldn't be at her 100th birthday party (it was what she lived for and she fully expected to see 100) and
she told me that she was afraid she would die alone and that she was afraid for night to come because she knew this would be her last day. So, I told
her that it's a blessing that it's happening so fast and that she doesn't have to suffer for months like some of her friends in the nursing home
(she agreed with that). I told her that I loved her as if she were my own grandma and that I felt blessed to have known her. I told her not to be
afraid, that she would soon be reunited with her parents & her husband, and I promised her she would not die alone and that I would sit at her bedside
until the end. I took her at her word that she would not live to see another day. She asked me to call her minister and I did. The minister arrived
only a couple minutes before my friend slipped back into unconsciousness, but she was conscious when the minister prayed with her.
At 9:30 that night, she started to sit up. Her eyes were wide and she started yelling at someone. At first I thought she was yelling at me. She was
looking straight ahead towards the door and saying, over and over, "I don't know why you're here. I don't know what you want from me. I don't
understand." (Not until the next day, while reliving this all in my head, did it dawn on me that she was talking to someone who I could not see). She
was getting so agitated in this argument with the person I couldn't see, that I called for the nurse. He came right in and zapped her with morphine
to knock her back out. He also said that this tends to happen when people are dying. That was the last that she spoke or opened her eyes.
This was a terribly cold night in January and there was a blizzard going on outside all night long. At 3AM the nurse came in to check on her and said
it wouldn't be long. Her breathing was getting very shallow. At 4AM I heard something I will never forget so long as I live-- a disembodied voice
asking for help. "Help! Get me out of here! Help! Someone let me out of here!" At first I thought it was coming from the heater vent - maybe someone
from the psych ward and it was traveling down the vents. I listened at the vent and determined that was not the source. I sat back down in the chair
by the bed and I heard it again. This time I quietly went into the hallway to listen. Total silence. Not even a nurse was in the hall. Back into the
room and back in the chair and I heard it again! This time it crossed my mind that one of the nursing home residents might have wandered out into the
courtyard, as the sound seemed to be coming from the windows or it was as if the voice was muted and I was hearing it through a _ Knowing that
it was cold and blowing snow out there, I looked out the window and saw no one. I went out of the room and down the hall to the door that goes into
the courtyard thinking someone might be trying to get in. No one was there. I finally gave up on trying to find the person. I felt awful for them. I
could hear the despair in their voice. I wasn't sitting in that chair again for 30 seconds before I heard the voice yet again. This time, I whispered
out loud, "I'm sorry. I can't help you" and the voice quit. I never heard it again the rest of the night.
At 7:30AM, just before sunrise, my friend died. Unfortunately I wasn't in the room. The nurses had me leave while they suctioned her and repositioned
her. They rolled her before suctioning though and caused her to aspirate what was in her mouth - which killed her. So she didn't have a peaceful
final few moments. After the nurses cleaned her up, I sat with her body and waiting for her daughter to arrive. I was there when the doctor came in to
pronounce her dead. Her daughter arrived, having no idea that I had spent the night at her mother's bedside. She was very grateful. She said she felt
awful all night, thinking that her mother was dying alone. I hadn't even crossed my mind to call her and let her know that I was sitting up there and
I guess I just assumed that the nurses had told her.
I did not sleep a wink the night I sat in the nursing home at my friend's bedside. The nurses provided me coffee all night long. I remember telling
her it was okay to let go - that her daughter would be fine. Everyone would be okay and that it was time for her to go.
When I got home that morning, I went straight to bed and slept till afternoon. Once I woke up, that's when I started replaying events in my head.
SLED - I do know what you mean by time feeling like it is different. Something felt different. I never thought of it as time, but now that you mention
that, I think you're right. I felt like I got too close to the veil that separates this life from the next and that it was open and not closing up.
In addition to feeling the sadness that I described in my previous post, I began to hate quiet and to fear the dark. I never felt alone. My husband
works overnight several days each week and I would have trouble with sleeping by myself. I had to sleep with the light on because I felt like I was
being watched and someone else was in the room who I could not see. If it was too quiet, I could hear voices - like the one I heard in the nursing
home, but fainter and I could never make out what they were saying. It sounded like Union Station - lots of people talking and I was unable to
separate them to actually listen to what they were saying. It was very creepy. Over time, the voices faded, but the feeling that I was not alone, did
not. It did not go away until I finally told my friend to leave me. I remember I had just gone to bed, in the dark, felt the sudden need to flip on
the lamp and then I just started bawling for no reason at all. That was that. I could not take that any more. I asked her to please go. I told her I
loved her, but she needed to move on. She did, and I've been fine every since but I do pick up peoples' emotions very easily and I have to be
careful of that. The problem with a spirit is that you can't walk away from them and their emotions, like you can a person in the flesh.