I'm "goosey". I'd written earlier
about my sweetheart who died of COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease). Gosh, I miss him so badly. He hadn't wanted to die, and I'd helped him live beyond the estimated times that his doctors had given him twice. It was almost about like to trying to keep a wilting flower alive, as I coached him on how and when to breathe all of the time and adjusted his oxygen up, and down again, after a breathing crisis. Encouraging exercise, nutrition, and the adequate intake of fluids, lifting him, bathing him, changing his bed sometimes up to as many as six time a day, I did everything within my power to help him stay alive and be comfortable for as long as he wanted to. I couldn't understand his having such a strong will to live, but I admired him so much for it, telling him all the time that I thought I was so much weaker than he and would have grown weary and succumbed. He worried about his ever increasing weakness and diminishing appetite, and although he didn't know it was a normal part of the dying process, I knew what was going on. He'd tried denying that he was dying, for so long, and it seemed to help keep him living.
One night, about 1 1/2 years before he died, he'd told me one morning that the night before he had awakened having trouble breathing and discovered that his oxygen cannula was out of his nose. He'd said that as he was trying to put it back in that it felt like someone was pulling on the tubing from the other end, and he'd said that when he looked in that direction he saw a young girl holding it, who looked like she was about 9 years old, and that when she saw him look at her, she turned and ran out of sight down our hallway, giggling.
I'd recalled that when I had met him many years ago that he had shared with me that he'd had a stepdaughter who was killed when her bicycle was struck by a car. After I asked him to describe what the little giggling girl he'd seen with his oxygen tubing the night before looked like, and he described her as having brunette hair, I asked him if she in any way resembled his deceased stepdaugher. He was a little surprised as he told me that it did actually look like her. I'd matter-of-factly told him that no doubt she has been missing him very badly for a long time, and that since he was so sick she was probably hoping to have him join her. He'd said that as weird as my idea was, it didn't seem unreasonable to him.
Nothing else similar to that incident happened until months later. He'd asked me one day if his mother was still living, and I reminded him that she had died about six years ago. He couldn't remember, and that bothered him, because he'd said that he felt like she was still alive for some reason. A few weeks later, he'd said that he kept feeling like his long deceased father was in the house with us. Not that he could see him, but he strongly felt like he was here. And, he remained here throughout this time.
Next, as my sweetie seemed like he was becoming more in tune to what was happening to him, he told me that he was seeing people, as well as animals, which he knew were not actually here. One time he announced to me that although he knew it wasn't really happening, that he was holding an infant, and that his arms were getting tired, and that he needed someone to come and take the baby. I told him that I would, and we went through the motions. He also had me come over to his bed and pick up a cat that was rubbing around on him and bothering him. A cat that I couldn't see, and he knew wasn't actually there. He'd laugh about these things, but he was also flabbergasted by them. I just reacted non-chalantly, telling him that it was all right, and perfectly normal to be going through strange occurrences.
As the end of his life grew closer, he would carry on conversations with people that I couldn't see, sometimes simutaneously while he was speaking with me. He was aware of this too, and would exclaim to me about how strange and fascinating it was.
Based on things I'd read, I also knew that as the time drew nearer that it isn't uncommon for dying people to also prepare for a trip. He'd ask me repeatedly if we were missing something that we were supposed to attend. He'd said that he didn't know what, but he'd felt like maybe we were supposed to have gone to someone's house for dinner, or a doctor appointment, he just didn't know, and couldn't put his finger on it and kept quizzing me to make sure there wasn't some place we'd needed to be.
Days or weeks after this, he began wanting me to help him onto his bedside toilet, then off again. On again, off again, over and over, without accomplishing anything. But, before asking me to help him onto it, he'd requested that I pull down the window blinds so that all of the people outside looking in through the window wouldn't be able to watch. Of course, I did, but there were no people there that I could see.
He'd followed everything I had read beforehand about the dying process, and I thank God for such people who are telling us what it's like nowadays so we can all be prepared to assist those who are leaving us.
Love and blessings to everyone,
goosey