I dreamed last night that I was dying. A morbid thought, I realize.
I was in a hospital with blue walls; sunny outside but I couldn't see through the windows. A ventilator next to the bed was breathing for me. Fully conscious I laid there, yet unable to move. My joints felt rusty and unused while I listened only to the sound of the machines in the room being drowned out by my new artificial lung.
One by one, people filed in. In the course of the day I saw everybody I have ever known. Even the ghosts of those lost to us stopped by for closure. Hundreds of people tying up the loose ends to hundreds of unresolved questions. They would sit in the cold metal chair next to my bed before they would open their mouths. Some to vent or scream at me. Some to reminisce and say their goodbyes. Some were unwilling to say anything at all, and just watched in silence. Then onward they walked, footfall after footfall, leaving only their memories behind. Within the coming hours, those would wither away with me as well.
As I felt the end drifting steadily closer, something called me out of sleep. I laid wide awake for the next hour or so, breathing the breaths I earned for myself and watching the snow fall drearily against the backdrop of gray sky. I was unfettered now, but remained in stasis, pondering the dream presented to me. Thinking back, I don't honestly remember any visitation in particular, or what was said; I just remember that everyone was there. Perhaps it's better that way.
I can't help but feel like it dredged something up inside of me, though I haven't been able to put my finger on what that might be. Perhaps this craving I've been having lately to revisit times lost, and look at them through the eyes I have now.
I wish that were possible.
