Last week I had a dream that replayed vividly in my mind the moment I awoke. What I remembered of this dream was a scene that took place in a doctor’s office. The very doctor’s office I visit when I am sick, with my actual doctor, Dr. M__, looking just as she did the last time I saw her, more than five years ago. My memory of the dream picks up at the very moment a diagnosis was being delivered. Dr. M__ stated, very matter of factly, that I had two years to live. I reacted to this final verdict with the calmness and practicality of one who had long been prepared for such news. Somehow, I was okay with it. The comfort, I believe, was due in part to the knowledge that I would have time to finish this book. I had two full years. My focus was now singular. Complete this book. All else fell away. What a gift!