I dreamt my old dog, wrapped in the towel I was going to bury her in, jumped up, shook off the towel, then ran to play in some sunlight beyond the tree in the back yard.

I turned and I was at the funeral home for the viewing of an old friend that had passed years ago. His 5yo son was poking at the body, apparently not understanding this was his father. And then my friend smiled. He opened his eyes, sat up, hugged his son and stepped away from the coffin with his family.

Amazed, I followed them out into the foyer and through the front doors to my grandfather’s hospital room.

There the doctor wrote something on a clipboard. My mother comforted my aunt by the window overlooking the parking lot. A nurse started to remove the oxygen tube from his face and my grandfather waved her away. Rolled out of the bed, put his slippers on, walked toward my mother and aunt, put his arms around them, and they all laughed with the kinda laugh you hear at Christmas gatherings when someone greets a family member they haven’t seen in a long, long time.

And I was riding in a car with my Grandmother. She was smiling at me and tapping her finger on the steering wheel. Suggested we should let the top down and enjoy the day.

Then my father, sober, clear eyed, Alabama Crimson Tide ballcap, walked from his garage workshop wiping his hands with a smile ear to ear asked me if everything had been okay while he was gone.

And Rupert Bear, who was dying on the ground in a massive seizure, paused, then rolled to his belly, awkwardly stood up like horses do, and nuzzled the hay roll to my side.

I suppose I dreamt I died. And I’m okay with that.