Premonitions of My Death

I have a ghastly reputation among my family for being able to predict death. 

I see other people's funerals. 

I dream of people as they are dying. 

I like to go to graveyards because I believe I am speaking to the dead.  I used to believe that I had one hell of an imagination until the things the ghosts told me started coming true. 

I don't know how this happens.

 It just does.

 I've written about it before and don't know if I'll have time to write about it today. 

For the past four days, I've seen my own funeral. 

It's a Catholic service.  That makes me giggle a little bit.  I was a pentecostal minister who turned to paganism.  I guess that is my family's way of finding middle ground. 

I made the mistake of asking how I will die. 

Last night I had a dream. 

In the dream, I'm having problems breathing, so I go to the doctor. 

The doctor tells me it's cancer and that I need to start Chemo right away. 

I go home and talk to my family.  They are in denial, so I forgo treatment. 

Three weeks later, I faint. 

I'm rushed to the doctor and given a choice:  Go back to the house or go to hospice. 

Because my house is such a painful place for me to be, I choose to die alone at the hospice. 

Recounting this dream led to a seven hour painful talk with the man in the basement. 

I'm shaking from it. 

Maybe, I'll share....maybe I won't. 

Death may not be nearly as painful as living in this house. 

Sick realization, isn't it?

Love ya,

S.