I dreamt I was dying

It was an awful, vivid dream. I was at emergency. They told me I was dying. They sent me home. I had so much to do. So many loose ends to tie up. It was so real. Tied to the fact the I have a cold and was having trouble breathing in my sleep, and the fact that I was sleeping and couldn't wake up, it felt, physically, like I was dying.

When I woke up it took me quite a few minutes to realize it had been a dream and that I wasn't, in fact, dying.

But I am. We all are. We are all dying. Maybe it is not today, or tomorrow, or in four months. But it is a fact.

So why do we wait for the big wake-up call? If there are things to do, or say, or plan, or organize, shouldn't we get on it? Shouldn't I get on it?

I dreamt of planning to try alternate therapies. I dreamt of steeling myself for chemo. I dreamt of what I wanted to say to my children, my husband, my sister. How would I say good-bye? How do you say good-bye?

I was afraid. I didn't want to die. I wanted someone to do something to help me.

I woke up (or maybe I was still dreaming), thinking of my dear friend who died two years ago - in her own bed, with a friend by her side. A friend,one of many, who had kept vigil over her as she lived those last few weeks of life. She had made sure everything was organized and taken care of before she died. She tied up all those loose ends. I admire her for that. That and her huge heart and big smile.

Most days I don't think about dying. I imagine I have forever. Or at least a good 50 years.

But today, I am thinking about dying. My death. The death of others close to me.

It must be Fall. It has finally come and while I am admiring its beauty I must also herald its message. Winter is coming. I should prepare for it.

Reluctant Fall

Fall seems reluctant to really take hold this year. The one deciduous tree outside my kitchen window is resisting the turn of colours that heralds autumn's place in the seasonal shift of time.
The days are warm, the sun bright and summer still beckons us back to days on a beach, in the water, on a back deck.

Perhaps the reluctance is because there are only so many winters in one's life, in this life. For some close to me the winter is too much with us, for others spring is perpetual.

Saint Michael has come again this fall to bring us courage. Soon Saint Martin will remind us to be generous with whatever we have - be it time, or money, or belongings. And when the November rains overwhelm us, Advent will come to shed some light into the deepening darkness.

Be brave, dear Autumn. It is your time. Bring on your cool mornings, your cooler evenings, your vibrant colours of red and gold. We are not afraid.

And you are so beautiful.