Dream after smoking a hookah

 Edit:  in real life I was with my adoptive father when he started to die, too.  I had this dream after smoking a hookah for the first time.


I dreamed that my father's name was Willie Hayes.  He was a famous musician who lived a hard but good life.  In my dream, I was with him when he died.
One evening (perhaps a Friday) I came over to visit him and my mother.  Another friend dropped by, some unnamed guy friend of Dad's, but he was more interested in my father's whiskey collection.  We left him sampling the new stock when Mom and Dad decided to go for a stroll.  Once we stepped outside, however, Dad realized he was too weak for the chilly night air and called for one of the butlers to bring forth a golf cart.  As we waited on a bench (Mother was admiring a patch of flowers she'd planted just off the path) Dad decided he wanted to visit one of the other buildings on the property.  It was the "old house", the one where us kids grew up.  He'd recently jad it converted into a store house but I never knew what it held.
The cart came, and now Father was coughing. (He'd been a smoker of cigars and the emphysema finally depleted his lungs)  Father insisted on driving to the other house and drove as though chased by a demon.  Once we got to the stairs he stumbled out of the cart.  With difficulty, he wrestled with the locked door.  He fell but I picked him up, panic nearly overtaking me as I took in his pallor.  He wrenched open the door and stumbled inside.
Dad dragged himself up the stairs.  Mom shouted from below, "Willie?  Willie!  What is this place?"  but I was too shocked to even speak.  Each room held a vintage car, and the one he stumbled into held a beautiful Cadillac hearse, black with gold trim.  Daddy yanked open the door and threw himself behind the wheel.  I barely noticed the treasures stuffed on the floorboard of the passenger seat - his favorite work jacket and some cds.  As my father drew his last breath, he mumbled something almost too low for me to hear: 
I put my hand on his cheek as he shuddered then sighed.  I gasped - his gaunt face was hot, but as my hand lay there, it grew cold to the touch, and his face became ashen and gray.
My father died this way, as my mother clamored up the stairs and his best friend drank himself into a stupor.