Dying is one of the most terrifying topics that you could ever bring up in a conversation. As a society we are very morbid, we accept death and all of its disadvantages. We fear dying but we also fear not living, we celebrate someone's life knowing that they will never be celebrated again. Most people get a proper funeral but I guess my family and I will never get that pleasure of knowing we will be celebrated. I crouch down to hug and kiss my children and immediately I am stuck with this troubling thought that my kids will never understand the severity of the situation.
Then we get the news. Evacuation. I am completely shocked that something like this is truly going to happen; there has already been some talk about one of the reactors failing but no one believed that it would actually happen. My first instinct was to pack everything. I wondered if I would ever come back to the city, to the house that my family has lived in for three generations. I remember as a kid waking up and the smell of blueberry pancakes hit my nose and I ran down and my mom walked over and kissed my forehead and told me she loved me. That brought me to the mornings I cooked pancakes for my children and all those I love you's shared up until this moment right now.
I look back at my kids and as I stare at them trying to take in their faces one last time, my moment of peace is broken by a loud bang.
My eyes quickly open and I jolt up to find myself covered in sweat and in a hospital bed. As I start to panic I realize that I have been in this hospital bed for about a month now and have stage 4 terminal cancer. The doctors say that this dream is the only thing that has been keeping me alive this long. At first I thought it was a message, but over time I've realized that this is a memory from a point in my life were I felt the most vulnerable, but it has become one of my favorite memories. I am old now and no longer afraid of dying, I take each day as anyone can and I do not regret anything that I have or haven't done.