Went to work Sunday-Monday 12am-8pm shift at a Mental Health group home. Did bed check about 10 past midnite. Buddy rose up from the bed and asked the question from outta' nowhere. " So Art, what happens to us when we die? " Of course I go to answer him from my Jehovah's Witness perspective about the resurection, and how we were never really meant to die.
Larry, also a client at the house, passed me during my travels about three o'clock in the morning, while I was on the thrid floor cleaning. He never was one to innitiate speaking to, I always had to speak to him first. This was not one of those times as he had spoken to me first. I didn't think much of it.
Later on, about 5 or so in the morning, there was a rush of energy that passed thru me and I needed to write this flowing poetry that was moving thru me. It wouldn't have affected me some much except for the fact that it just flowed out of me without effort. The writing was very dark and apocalyptic. It however was not forced, as I've found a lot of my writing to be.
I'm going to track down the book that I've shared with a friend so as to have a record of it.
During the waking of the clients, I strangely noticed Larry, seemingly sleeping so peacefully on his pillow. Strange, however was the fact that Larry wasn't snoring as he usually does. I tapped him on the shoulder once to wake him up,...theres something strange in the touching of a dead body, I immediately began to try to deny what was evidently happening, Larry, who was often clowned on by staff members and clients alike because of his aloofness, his having recently been released from prison, his spacey personality, and the fact that he often snored, had died that morning.
My supervisor and I both panicked and did not handle the situation well. We were required to administer CPR, at the very least, that was not done. I believe at the time he was seemingly dying, peacefully in his sleep, was the exact same time that this rush of energy and poetry, was being written by me. Buddy's asking of me that fateful morning what happens to us when we die, having Larry die that same morning and the writing of the poetry, really spooked me out for a long time. I took almost 2 weeks off from work, just to recover from that situation. I was devastated.
