Delirious

If you searched for delirious in the dictionary, it would describe a disorder of mental faculties or disturbances of consciousness, characterized by delusions, hallucinations.
Antonyms would come to mind: agitation, rambling, restlessness.
These are new words to my vocabulary of understanding. They sift one down to the basics.
What did she say? Was she lucid?
Has her chest heaved yet again?
How can we make her more comfortable?
Isn't that what we always want? Comfort? Breath? Air to squeeze through a chest constricted by disease, by sorrow?
To say she is delirious does not describe the desolation etched upon the faces around her. It does not take into account the tears that gush from hearts busted wide. It pays no attention to the angst in your own heart.
No, delirium can be better described as a ship sailing off into the horizon, to be seen no more. It is the roadside marker, informing, silence is near, stillness is certain. These ramblings are carrying away, this one we want near.
Delirium is a disorder of hearts, breaking; a disturbance of rest and dreams, of control and of fears.
It is the hard leaving of a decaying shell and the gathering of hope, eternal.