I thought I died last night.
Evidence, however, confirms that I remain among the breathing, if not the living. I suppose that makes what I experienced a dream, even as it felt so very real. The shortness of my breath before lowering my eyelids was very real. Gasp…gasp…gasp. Oxygen at a premium.
I found comfort in the notion that I might never raise my eyelids again.
Why was that? Am I content with all that I have not accomplished in this lifetime? What about the unfinished 16th book, Chapter 17 this morning giving way to Chapter 18? The muse has flowed freely in the recent days passed, giving rise to an expectancy of completion in advance of another Christmas with no stockings to be hung.
Perhaps it was not a dream at all, but, rather, an advanced screening of what soon I shall live.
Only two were there to witness my walk to the other side, the loveliest of women, Sheila, and my eldest daughter, Krystal. Smiles and expressions of love and peace were exchanged as I approached the filmy, watery wall that divides the two sides of life. Yet one of them pulled me back. Which one I am uncertain, but what, of all that I have left undone, would she have me now do?
Breath comes easily this morning. Purpose does not.