In those first dark days after my son died, as I lay in bed crying myself to sleep, praying for a chance to see him just one more time, I realized I was looking at myself. I was literally standing next to my bed, looking at myself laying there, motionless. “Daddy?” His voice was soft and weak, as my son looked up at me. Forgetting everything else, I hugged him. “But Daddy, does this mean you’re dead, too?” “I don’t really know, and right now, I don’t care. I’m so glad to see you again.”