The Call of Death

The call of Death was soon upon us, calling louder and louder, more intense with each passing moment. Holding her cold, clammy hand, watching the life fade from her eyes - Her voice sounding fainter, as Death called louder.

I was knocking on Death's door, yet praying - With all my heart, mind and strength, with all the power I possessed - That he was busy, or not home. That Death would not open his door unto me.

I thought I could hear Death approaching - his feet pounding, coming closer and closer - Only to realize it was the rapid beating of my own heart.

The final sounds of sirens came as a song of relief, plucked upon the strings of my heart; A beautiful melody.

I never felt more love, appreciation and passion, for my mother as I did then. Watching the ambulance tak her away - The sirens now singing a different tune, a song of panic - feeling empty, lonely and helpless. Putting all my trust in God.

Pacing around the house, I remembered, like a blow to the head, the dream that came to me that morning. . .

A cold, but brightly lit room - A morgue. On a table was a pair of feet, protruding from under a neat, white sheet. Somehow I knew it was my mom, lying 'neath the cloth. A group of men, in neatly pressed white coats, surveying each other with wonder. I heard my own voice in the distance as I asked, "Well, if it wasn't cancer that killed her, what was it?".

My heart skipped a beat as I began to wonder if she was going to live, another flood of panic. After all, it wouldn't be the first time my dreams had become reality.