The first rays of the sun crept inside the room and the dewy cold early morning air brushed my exposed feet. I grabbed for my blanket and turned into a fetal position to fight the cold. I tried to recall why I woke up and nothing came into my mind. Somehow it could be the barking of the dog outside or it could be whispers of the neighbour’s help as they ready for their day of household chores. But what really got my attention was the fact that I woke up with no memories of a dream. I didn’t dream at all.
When I was a kid, I used to dream a lot. There were good dreams like flying among the clouds and nothing can be sweeter than that.
And then there were those dreaded, heartbreaking dreams. They can make you feel depressed for a long time with the thought that it could happen.
There was this dream that up until now, I still think about and in no way would I want to dream again. It was hazy but I heard the singing of the choir and the soft cries of people. I was drawn by the sadness of the atmosphere that I suddenly felt cold and afraid. I unwillingly turned and then I saw it.
Surrounded by an array of flowers and people was a coffin. Suddenly, I was more than afraid. I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks and the heat rushing in my veins; making my heart beat furiously. Inside the coffin, I saw my brother Christopher lying peacefully with a trace of smile on his face. Nothing in his expression relieved what I felt. He was dead!
Blood rushed to my head as I forced myself to wake up. For some reason, I didn’t cry. I can still feel the loud thumping of my heart but I calmed myself knowing it can’t be true. Even though my brother smokes and drinks, he's fit and is never sick. It couldn't be true. It was just a dream and I could forget about it.
Yes, it wasn't true. It didn't come true because I dreamed about the wrong brother.
On October 27, 2004, my older brother Raymund or Toto as we fondly called him was shot dead at his lower back and his chest by people who only wanted his wallet, his motorbike and his necklace with the Holy Cross pendant. And if there was enough time, they would have taken his newly-bought sneakers, too.
Two cold bullets were carelessly triggered to kill my angel of a brother. Toto had lived his life battling asthma and being a good and reliable son and a sweet endearing brother to his siblings. He found his passion in music, strumming the guitar and playing the organ. He grew up being Mamang and Papang's favorite not because he was the sickly child but because he had a pure heart.
In fact, he tried his luck of becoming a priest but for some reason, he gave it up. Instead, he found himself inspiring people by teaching philosophy to college students, sharing his love of music and of God and setting a good example for us, his younger siblings in valuing hard work and touching other people's lives.
In fact, he tried his luck of becoming a priest but for some reason, he gave it up. Instead, he found himself inspiring people by teaching philosophy to college students, sharing his love of music and of God and setting a good example for us, his younger siblings in valuing hard work and touching other people's lives.
When the news reached us that day from our dormitory in college, my sister Kristine and I held each other crying. It was painful to lost someone you love dearly but it was more excruciating when someone else took his life and left him writhing in agony and crying for help.
I still remembered the day when I first set foot in the chapel. It was deja vu; the array of flowers, the soft cries of the people, and the white coffin. The coldness of the air made me hesitate to look inside the box but I had to. I needed to know if I wasn't dreaming. And there he was lying peacefully as if he was just sleeping. Tears flowed and suddenly I heard myself sobbing like a child wishing hopelessly that it was an empty coffin. I wished it was just a dream. I wished it didn’t come true.
I still remembered the day when I first set foot in the chapel. It was deja vu; the array of flowers, the soft cries of the people, and the white coffin. The coldness of the air made me hesitate to look inside the box but I had to. I needed to know if I wasn't dreaming. And there he was lying peacefully as if he was just sleeping. Tears flowed and suddenly I heard myself sobbing like a child wishing hopelessly that it was an empty coffin. I wished it was just a dream. I wished it didn’t come true.
But we can never turn back the time and we could go on hurting. I still am and maybe that's the reason why my mind still resists having dreams and makes me wake up empty every morning. I missed dreaming but to tell the truth, I’d rather wake up empty than dream of my brother in that cold coffin again. I longed to dream of Toto again but not in a coffin. I longed to see his smile on his sun-burnt face. I longed to feel the warmth of his brotherly love. I longed to hear his voice. I longed to see, hear and feel him alive.
I’ll come by, someday and hopefully I’ll wake up one morning with a smile on my face and just let go, just let go.
Toto, watch over us from heaven; we know you already are.
