It was only 3 AM when I awoke. Something was a little strange—A little different. I wander through my home like a ghost, guided by some unknown purpose, a hand gently pulling me.

 Out of my bedroom and into the living room, where I changed the diapers of my son, played tag with him, helped him with his algebra homework, and watched baseball when he’d come to visit.

Then into my kitchen where I would greet my wife after work and help her bake my son’s birthday cakes.

I am then brought to the entrance of my home. A framed picture of my family takes my gaze and I see in my place, an old gray-haired man in golden spectacles.

I see from the open door of my bedroom, that I never really awoke, now realizing that I never will. 

The being makes itself clear, one hand gesturing towards the Elysian Fields beyond my front door and one for my old, wrinkled hand. 

“Was I a good father?” I ask.

“You sure were, Thomas,” it replies in a soft whisper.

With that, we left behind the realm with which I knew so long, conclusively content with the role I played.