Dream

– At Peace Essay, Research Paper At Peace Everything feels like a dream. I don?t know where I am. I can hear sobbing, and soft music as I lie there. I must be asleep in my bed, waiting for my mom?s soft voice to come tell me that breakfast is ready. I smell flowers. Mom must have cut some fresh roses from the garden today.

– At Peace Essay, Research Paper

At Peace

Everything feels like a dream. I don?t know where I am. I can hear sobbing, and soft music as I lie there. I must be asleep in my bed, waiting for my mom?s soft voice to come tell me that breakfast is ready. I smell flowers. Mom must have cut some fresh roses from the garden today. She always tried to put some in my room, so my room would smell nice when I woke up. I attempt to wake up, but opening open my eyes is like trying to lift a two-ton rock. They won?t budge. I must be tired from the game. The football game was so intense. It was the first home game of the season, and the crowd was so enthusiastic. I screamed and cheered so loud that I lost my voice. The party afterwards took all the energy that I hadn?t used at the game. But, for now, I will give up and continue to lie in this dream-like state. My body obviously needs to rest.

My thoughts are directed back to the crying and to the faint music. I hear a sound, like a preacher?s voice. His tone is morbid. He is speaking in such a mono-toned voice that I can hardly make out what he is saying. It sounds as if he is praying. Mom must have the Christian channel on again. She always watches it on the Sundays we can?t make it to church. He sounds so sad, but his tone seems to brighten as he begins to speak about Heaven. He talks about the glorious golden gates, the perfect beings; and the peace that no human can understand, peace that I feel I am beginning to experience.

Now the preacher is silent. I guess the show is over. As I wait to see what show Mom will watch next, I hear someone else begin to speak. The voice is that of a young female?s. She sounds a little less prepared than did the preacher. Her voice sounds so familiar, so soothing. She begins to talk about a beautiful friendship, one like no other. She sounds as if she is happy until I hear the crack in her small, child-like voice. Then she stops speaking; I hear nothing but sobbing and weeping. She takes some time to recover and bravely continues. Then one after the other, people –familiar people– take turns sharing their thoughts.

It is hard to make out what they are saying. There is a pillow packed tightly around my head. I feel like I am lying in a cloud. There are fluffy cushions all around me. I try desperately to hear what they are saying. I can sense the sadness in their voices. Why are they all sad? I want so badly to talk to them, to comfort them. I try to speak, but nothing will come out. I began to panic. Why can?t I open my eyes? Why can?t I speak? Why doesn?t anyone in the room see me trying so hard to communicate? Am I invisible? I began to pray: ?God, please help me?.

My panic is broken by a warm sensation on my hand. It feels like another hand. The skin is so soft, so comforting. I feel the hand caress my face, and I smell familiarity. It is a light, feminine fragrance. Then the hand leaves me, and I began to feel warm drops of water fall onto my face. I hear weeping like I?ve never heard before. It is so intense, like a pain nothing in the world can console. I feel short locks of hair press against my face as someone leans down, and hugs my life-less body. The hair smells so familiar too, like the hand. As her body is hovered over mine, I hear faint whispers in my ear. I recognize the voice as that of my mother. Through her sobbing, she tells me how much she loves me and begs for me not to leave.

Reality sets in. I know where I am. I am at my own funeral. I know there is a preacher. I can smell the flowers all around me. I hear the soft faint music in the background. I hear familiar voices all telling of the great times we shared. Everyone is crying so hard that I wish I could help them all. I wish for one second I could wake up and tell my mother and father that I Iove them. I begin to smell more and more flowers, as my parents and friends take turns placing a single rose on my chest. The scent is almost overwhelming. I began to return to the peace that I was feeling before. Now, I don?t feel sad. I don?t feel worried about the people that I left behind. I do not seem to have any cares. At last, I am at peace.