My 82 year-old grandfather fell and hit himself on some pavement. I had a nightmare about losing him not eight hours before I got the news. It continually haunts me and brings on panic attacks. My mother took him to the hospital. Our worst fear was broken bones, which would be a death sentence at his age, but the nurses all said nothing is broken. He’s badly banged up, cut and bruised something fierce, but hopefully his old body still has enough life in it to heal up. My uncle was watching for the day before having a miniature breakdown of sorts. My mother called me and asked if I’d stay with him tonight, and possibly tomorrow since I’m off work. I of course said yes, I would, and am there now. He’s asleep, hopefully healing. Horrible thoughts about loss run through my head, bit for now, I’m glad he seems to be handling it, and hope for more years out of him yet. God, I was frightened.