Jacob's Ladder (1990)
One Sunday morning, I experienced the most terrifying and devastating nightmare my mind had ever conjured in my 27 years of existence. From what I can remember, I got into a car accident—which plays into my insecurity of driving—and died. At first, I hadn't yet realized that I was dead. I suddenly found myself in my house, listening to my father reminisce wistfully for the umpteenth time to my mother about a childhood photo in which he and I, as a baby, laid beside one another in bed, me staring into his eyes with a smile. At some point, it dawned on me that he wasn't just rehashing a memory for the nostalgia of it; he was reminiscing about me as a baby because those memories are now all that he and my mom had left. All at once—like Malcolm Crowe in the ending of The Sixth Sense — a wave of devastating realization washed over me: I died in that crash, so now, I'll never even have the opportunity to get married or gift my parents a grandchild. Worse than that, I'm now t...