This story is loosely inspired by and compassionately dedicated to a dear friend. I met her at a food pantry where I volunteered when she was about fifty. She passed away four years later from a heart attack caused by high blood pressure and multiple health issues. During the time I knew her, she was passionate about overcoming her many addictive habits, yet at the same time, she remained addicted. Just the same, she did her best. She was a sweetheart with a very poor self-image. She died in her trailer home on her daughter’s property one Sunday evening. I awoke in the early morning of that same Sunday just after dreaming about her. In my dream, I watched her run a foot race. The race track was thick with mud, and she was struggling—falling and picking herself up—yet she completed her race, running through the ribbon at the end of the track.
Jan C. McLarty
