This morning, I awoke surprised as last night, in my dream, I died, that fearful thing we were always told would mean we’d seen our last waking day. Yet here I am alive and telling my tale of how I dreamt that, after a struggle, I’d succeeded in my grand task, but failed to save myself.
I lay in a hospital bed. The room was bright, the machines beeped, but when the klaxons sounded I turned my head and saw the monitor’s lines go flat, its numbers tick down to zero. I know it was it I who watched, as I felt my conscious self hanging on for a few brief breathless moments as my candle guttered out. There was no sudden pain, no last struggle against the dark, or if there was, I was unaware as my form and I had already parted ways. I heard no celestial choirs, saw no flights of angels. What filled me as my vision faded was neither terror nor fear, not even anxiety.
I felt free.
Free. Released, unfettered, one final exhalation filled with serenity and peace, the struggle over, the grand task complete, a life, concluded. I wanted nothing after, did not pray for heaven, feared no hell. I was simply content to have loved well and done my best.
That’s it.
Love well.
Do your best.
Naught else is worth tallying.
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 