Coma patient 36

For 36 years she had been unconscious.
36 muscles in her body had been permenantly damaged.
Suddenly she woke up in tears.
They told her and when she heard the number 36 it was like flying through time.
She spent three years daydreaming of the same dream she had in her coma.
It was a dream of a white lake glistening with a billion seagulls that she could move with her souls - this way and that way.
On command. Waved like an ocean in wing. Sent swiftly away like the tide to horizons birth point and back in recurrence of her vision then lost. Growing bigger and fuller in flock than her eye could contain. Brighter than any torch or light could enlighten. Bolder than the desire for her nerves to twitch through her veins if only for a second. Fresher than a newborn deer.
Clearer than a child's first poem.
Until one fateful day, unfortunely she grew sick again and finally her soul commited its body to the pure white lake, blessed with a billion beaming white seagulls, with her 36 year old daughter.
She had been accidentally caught that day by her dearest friend. An orca whale. In her fetal jaws, her wound too deeply crossed to be healed.