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I woke up and knew I was going to die.
It was sometime past four in the morning. The dream was still vivid–not the images, those had already dissipated–but the certainty that my end was near. It felt solid, a physical presence, and oddly unemotional, like a date on a slate of stone.
I woke my wife and told her. Don’t talk like that, she said. But after talking to her, I was more anxious, as if the reality of what I had told her left the dream world and entered the waking world.
I did not go back to sleep but lay there trying to sleep. As the sun brightened the room, my dream faded bit by bit until I held only the remembrance of what I had experienced.
By the time I herded the kids through breakfast and brushing and clothes (several sets for the girls in quick succession) and driven them to school while my wife dealt with the baby, and delivered them to their classrooms with Have a good days, I had forgotten.
At work my coworker was sick, so I had double the paperwork. It was better just to do it. Nobody wanted to be behind after throwing up repeatedly the day before. I ate lunch at my desk as I piled through it, my head beginning to pound from all the numbers. I took a jog to the break room, just to clear it, then dived back in. My wife called at some point, reminding me about a dentist appointment that had sounded like a good idea a week ago.
The time in the waiting room was too long (as usual). Then it was scrape, scrape, scrape, and the endless drool and suctioning, and the faint taste of blood and scrape, scrape, scrape, until my whole mouth ached. The dental hygienist was a young lady I had taught in youth group, and she chatted happily the entire time.
That afternoon I poured over reports again, feeling the space between my teeth with my tongue.
At five I rushed home so I could be just in time to take my son to basketball practice.
“How was school?” I asked.
“Horrible. People cheated at dodgeball.”
“Did you?”
“Of course not, Dad.”
I watched practice. Josh lives the game. I could tell it in his face.
When we returned home we had a late supper. Then it was spelling tests for both of the older kids and devotions. After devotions, I read books to the baby or, really, just Goodnight, Moon eight times and sang Old McDonald until I ran out of farm animals, pets, and jungle creatures. She slept happily.
AAt her bedtime, Annie complained that she hadn’t had any time to do art with me , so I let her stay up, and I sat by her and drew aliens while she drew princesses. She’s actually quite good.
Finally, everyone was in bed. I really just wanted to veg, but I did the dishes because we need spoons in the morning and then my wife doesn’t have to worry about it. We watched our show together, and in the silence after, right when we should be heading to bed but wanted to delay the day a little more, she asked, “So, you didn’t die today, huh?”
A memory of this morning’s realization washed over me.
“I suppose I could go,” I muttered.
“What?” she demanded.
“It wasn’t a red letter day,” I said, “but it’ll work.”
“Stop it.”
“I love you,” I said seriously. “I think the kids know that. I hope so.”
“You’re being an idiot.”
“Yes,” I said. “It was a good day.” I look at my wife. “If I’m lucky, I might even get another.”
She punched me. She’ll regret that if I don’t wake up in the morning.