The Last in a Series of Dreams: straring death in the face

As anyone that is capable of reading this is aware of, death, be it natural, violent, or random, is a part of life. I recall the death of a few older relatives when I was no more than eight. Then in my teen years a couple friends died. Within fifteen years I would see death first hand, not just once but three times. Those were dream series of their own. A good time turned bad, or a misspoken phrase in a foreign language. (another reason not to cater to mexicans!) Yet after all that I was still invincible. I had no fear of death, that is until the following dream.

I am not sure what nite the state of California performs their executions on, but it was that nite. The gurney was in the living room of Jack Hymans house in Sepulveda CA. There was a small crowd of about a dozen witnesses along with my brother and mom. Ten to Midnite (not the Bronson movie) and the director of events tells all to leave except my mom and brother. Ten minutes to do what? Apologize? Not sure who I killed, but I know I would have done society a favor.

There I am (put yourself here) ten minutes until the big gauge needle is in your arm. Time to think about it. I freaked! For so long I was ready to die, inadvertently pushing the envelope. Now I had to live. I knew the layout of the back yard. The patio, pool, and brick wall. I split.
Like thunder in the northern Arizona sky I rolled across miles.

Since then I have had many ponderings of my death. Sometimes I freak out. Oddly enough, my greatest concern is "this world is going to suck even more without me".