I am lying on a bed. I consider myself an old lady, very old, but I am only my own age (53). I am dying. The bed begins to rise up into the air. I float along, rising higher and higher as well as going forward out the door and down the street. I pass the interior of a hospital, and a baby who is dying joins me. I hold the baby and talk soothingly to it. We rise up toward heaven. I am relieved. I was wondering which way I'd end up going.