I dreamt that I was talking to a doctor or nurse on duty in a large hospital in which my father spent a few weeks close to the end of his life. The place looked rather like a refugee camp, though. There were beds everywhere, and many people were wandering among them. I remember telling the person I was talking with that I often see my father in one of the beds, but that he disappears by the time I come closer. The same thing happened just as I was talking. I saw my father quite clearly three or four rows of beds away from the spot where we were standing. His hair was neatly combed and his face was cleanly shaved, but he had that vacant look of his last days. When I spotted him, he was reclining on several pillows, but he was gone by the time I reached his bed. The impression of his body was still clearly visible in the crumpled sheets. Overcome with grief, I started sobbing. This is how I woke up, too. Our parents never die. They keep forever dying on us.