From a dream 12/04/2016:

It was any ordinary day. I go to work, I try to admire the world and others, I do my best. I was working on writing an exam for my job in the chemistry program at the university when my vision began to fade. At first I thought nothing of this. Growing up with syncope, lapses of consciousness were not unfamiliar occurrences to me. However, this time it was sustained and came with a harsher, prolonged separation from reality. I thought I might be in trouble, so I ran to find someone.

I pleaded to the first person I found to call an ambulance in shaky, inarticulate words as I fell to the ground. My eyes were closing, but I told myself I only needed to breathe. I might fall asleep on the ground of a university hallway, but I would wake up at the destination of the ambulance that was en route to save me. And sure enough, I did.

I woke up in a hospital bed beside overjoyed family members, none of whom I recognized. A man took my hand and I was surprised at how his hand engulfed mine, as if he were a giant with a friendly face. When he moved closer I could see in the reflection of the window that I was not myself — or at least not who I was before the fall. I was a child and this was my father. My life, the life of James Wadman, the neurobiologist, chemistry specialist, writer, and musician was the dream of a young boy in the midst of his chemotherapy treatment.

I was still looking in my reflection in the window when the world faded again. This time, I woke up in bed at home.

When the clock runs out of time, I learned that it is a blessing to have lived at all.

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