One summer I was living about 200 miles away from my parents. I woke up one Sunday morning with this feeling of dread related to my parents. I called that morning to check in with my parents and asked if things were okay. My mom insisted that everything was fine. I tried to go on about my day, but I couldn't shake the feeling of dread. I called again to check in; things were fine. When, by late afternoon, the feeling of dread had only increased for me, I called and told my parents that I was going to come home for a few days. I'd already visited them about two or three weeks previously and, for all Mom knew, things were fine. She seemed a little annoyed by my insistence that things weren't right, but she and Dad told me to come on up and I'd be welcome.
The next morning, Mom came into my room at daybreak and asked me to get up, get dressed, and drive her and Dad to the ER, as Dad was having some "issues." He wound up being hospitalized and having prostate surgery a couple of days later. If I hadn't been there, I'm not sure what they'd have done, as Mom didn't drive and Dad wouldn't have been able to do so in the state he was in. After we got Dad safely admitted, the feeling of dread left me.