Let me first start of by saying, there are many things that go on in my family. Like relatives calling after they have passed or scents coming in the room to comfort you or right before something happens. My mother use to tell me about these things growing up and when we were old enough to understand. I never really put much thought into them. I think on a personal level I didn't really want to believe in them.
In 1999, I experience my first of many visits (as I like to call them). My Ex and daughter's father committed suicide. I experience the first visit while at the viewing in the funeral home. They have happened many many times after that. To the point that my daughter has gotten really afraid to be in her room alone. I couldn't understand why she was all of a sudden afraid and at the age of 9. She was with me one night in my room and looked out the door towards the den. I will never forget the look on her face, it chilled me so much, I had to get up and close the door. She proceeded to tell me that there was a man sitting on our couch. At first I reassured her no one was in the house. The look on her face and her actions proved me wrong. I left it alone after closing the door and we didn't speak of it any further that evening. She slept with me that night.
The next day I asked her to describe who she saw. Down to the color of the baseball cap, he was her Father. I explain this to her and told her that he was not there to hurt her. He was probably wanting to check up on her and look over her. I explain to her that if he really scares you, you can ask him to leave. I don't know if she ever did this or not, but to this day, we have had nothing go on involving him. He has been around us since the day at the funeral home and he will have been gone 9 years next year. The couch event happened last year.
Now getting on to the real purpose of my story and writing on here... My Papa passed away November 6, 2007. I was always closed to my Papa and really enjoyed his company the older we got. I would love to sit and hear his stories that he would tell over and over again. His health started going down about August of this year. He slowly was not able to get around at all. He started sleeping more and more everyday. He started to not be able to understand things that were going on around him. As my grandmother and aunt took him to the doctor appointments and he started fighting the nurses and doctors. Around the beginning of September he began complaining that it hurt to eat or drink anything. As the doctors did scopes of his throat there seem to be nothing wrong. There was conversation of a feeding tube, which he said no, he wouldn't do that. He just stopped eating and drinking all together. He was just being really mean to the nurses that were trying to take care of him and run test.
After a few weeks of moving him around from hospitals and nursing homes, they decided to bring him home and set him up so he could rest in his home. During this period I was really sick and was told I couldn't/shouldn't go see him, as he may catch something from me and worsen. I stayed away for almost two months, as it took me that long to get well. My Grandmother's birthday was November 5th. I called her and spoke with her and said I was coming over to see them the next day, and I wanted to make sure they would be around and not out at doctor appts. She assured me they would be and I told her I would see them tomorrow.
That evening as I was deep asleep I was shaken awake. At the moment I was opening my eyes I assumed it was one of my children that had a nightmare or something. However, I open my eyes to a lady with short brown hair standing at the side of my bed with her face directly over mine. It startled me, so I attempted to move but felt as though my covers were being held tight so I could not move. I tried to say something and I was unable to speak. She was directly over my face about a foot from my face with her eyes looking directly at me and her mouth open in a strange, almost scary sort of way. She never said anything but only stayed that way a few minutes to make sure I was fully awake I guess. She then turned and walked towards my bedroom door. Once she got to my bedroom door, it was like she just vanished. The door never opened or anything. I was shocked, just trying to figure out what had happened. Was I dreaming? Was I awake? I finally was able to move and just laid most the night awake in my bed.
Now, I've had so many visits in the past 9 years that they usually do not freak me out. However, this one... Bothered me. There was something strange about the entire deal.
I got up the next morning and as I had gotten out of the shower and was starting to get ready to go to my grandparents house, my mother called. She started talking as if I knew what was going on, I learned that they had given my Papa 24 hours, if that. So, I threw on some clothes, went and got my mother. When we arrived at the house my Aunt, Uncle and Father were already at the house. I was not sure what to expect as I had not seen him in awhile. As I walked in the room, he laid in his hospital bed, with his mouth open, very sick. Everyone else teared up and got emotional, I sort of just looked at him. I didn't leave that room or his side but only to go to the bathroom and for a 20 minute break all day. My mother later told me I was stubborn and wouldn't leave him...
But, I wanted to be there with him, even if I wasn't sure he even knew I was there. I felt like I'd missed a lot of time with him as he progressed into this state and I wanted to spend as much time as I could with him. He was going quickly and I didn't want to miss a single second. I held his hand and rubbed his arm, as they were so cold. There were a few times he raised his eyebrows or pushed on the nurse as she tried to take his temp. I knew he was still there with us and could hear us. The nurse had told us that we should talk to him and reassure him, but that's a hard thing to do.
As the day and early night went on, I sat and watched him. I would count his breathes and rub his hand. I would catch myself, saying inside breathe Papa, breathe. I didn't really want him to hang on, as I knew he was in pain. But, I didn't want to let go of him just yet. He finally got to where he started taking one breath and then would stop for a minute. Over and over again. As he had some many different breathing patterns all day, I knew it was close. I looked over at the nurse and told her. She got her watch and we both stared. I moved my chair up to his bed real close, so that I can continue to hold his hand and rub his shoulder and put my head down, towards him. I started to cry and was very overwhelmed all of a sudden. I looked at his face and his mouth was different, more peacefully open. His face didn't look like it had looked that morning and he seemed more at ease. I finally as I was holding him, said it's okay Papa, go ahead and go. We will be okay.
He never took another breathe after that.
After the fact and after we buried him and later spoke about all that went on. I finally told about the brown-haired lady the night before I went over to see him. It freaks me out and gives me chills to speak about her to this day. My mother seems to think she was telling me I had to go the next day. What is really strange is that she held her mouth the exact way my Papa was laying there with his open most the day. Maybe she was trying to tell me to go see him. I hope I never see her again.