This morning I woke from a terrible dream.

My wife had my three oldest children in tow as they walked through the entrance of some generic, middle-america shopping mall.

My youngest, just three years old, held my hand as I watched the rest of our family approach the entrance to, what I somehow knew in the dream to be, a horrible demise. There was a nine-eleven, Aurora Colorado feel to the air. Just an overwhelming sense of imminence. 

I yelled for them to come back to me. They smiled back and waved.

I screamed that they were in danger while my youngest boy tugged at my hand, wanting to go with his mother.

If I moved closer to intervene, physically, it would have endangered our baby. If I didn't they were all certainly lost.

My brain snapped awake as they walked through the entrance. And I knew I had to go to work and stand the watch. To somehow pretend that I was sane enough to serve the public when they cried for help from the rivers. 

But all I wanted to do was to kiss my wife, hold my children.