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Last week I had the strangest dream. I dreamt I was in the living room with my father. We were sitting on the floor and he had his shirt off but was wearing a sarong. I sat next to him and tightly wrapped my hands around his right arm, afraid to let go. He was sitting in a calm state and had a vacant but peaceful look on his face. I was hysterically crying, and kept saying to him “don’t go”, “don’t go”! Then my mother walked in the room and whispered to me “don’t tell him he is dead. He doesn’t know.”
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