I woke up

crying this morning.
I dreamed I had stage five terminal brain cancer, with only days left to live.
My father took me in a car, on a long car ride up many highways I'd never seen before. We ended up in a vintage town filled with history about maralon manroe and james dean. that kind of place. We came into a diner and sat down. The food was already at our table, my dad had called and ordered ahead. He got me a steak, mashed potatoes and some greens. A meal he knew I hadn't had in years but have always loved. I started crying. It felt like my last meal. Like we only had hours left together.
My dad told me waitress I had brain cancer. She didn't know how to react, I kept crying. I told my dad that there weren't many men in the world like him, that would do this.
When we were done eating I told him I wanted to shave my head. Not because I was about to lose it, because it was too late for treatment, but because I'd always wanted to.
He simply stood up and started out the diner. I followed, saying that it was probably a bad idea.
Then I woke up. Crying.
We are so lucky to be alive.