“CLAY! No, you can’t go!” I am awake. Sweating but shaking with cold fear.

Spencer, Spencer…” my mom has her arm around my shoulders.  “It’s ok.  It’s not your fault.  It was just his time.”  She soothes.

Glen has a cool rag for me already and hands it to her.  It is a routine now.  They all have their part and they all get me through.  Glen and I had an older brother.  My parents had an oldest son.  Clay died when I was 13, he was 17.  He was going to his senior prom, off to pick up his girlfriend Chelsea.  I begged him not to go.  I told him that I had a dream earlier in the week and that something went wrong.  I wasn’t sure what, but I was worried for him.  He just smiled and joked for me not to be jealous that I would get to go to Prom soon enough.  As I watched him drive away the feeling that my dream was right overwhelmed me.  Clay’s cell phone was on the kitchen counter.  I had no way to contact him, so I cried until my dad agreed to take me after him.  We found Clay’s car in the ditch.  All of the images in my dream fell into place and gaps were filled in by real scenes.  He had been hit by a truck, the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel.  My dad went into action to get Clay out and call an ambulance.  I just stood there and let time spin around me, blaming myself for not stopping him.  The next thing I remember is my Dad carrying me to the ambulance and we rode with Clay to the hospital.  During the drive I held Clay’s hand. The paramedics had done all they could and so they just let my dad and I hold his hands.  He whispered never to think that it was my fault I didn’t stop him and that he loved me.  Those are the last words I have from Clay and I am grateful for them. Clay hung on long enough to talk to everyone in the family.  He was so unselfish like that.  Then with all of us in the emergency room holding onto each other for support, he let go.   I still punish myself with the dream, although the frequency of it has decreased, it is still as vivid as ever.