The usefulness of dread (aeon.co)
One morning, my father died at home. I awoke to a call for help - my name shouted once, loudly, desperately, fearfully, by my mother - ran into my parents' bedroom, and found my father convulsing in the throes of a massive heart attack. His body bucked on a deadly trampoline, his chest heaved, spittle flecked his lips and the sides of his mouth as he desperately sought to fill his lungs with air. By the time our friendly family doctor arrived, stethoscope and black bag in tow, my father was...