The hardest thing was waking up

He was there. He’s back.

I looked up to him and my mom standing together, as we roamed around the city. He had his DSLR as usual, and mom equipped with her smartphone to take videos. I remember going shopping for souvenirs and other window shopping.

We had a chit-chat and he took a video of me and mom as we goofed off. We went together to take pictures around town.

And then I opened my eyes.

I looked around and realized I’m back in my room, laying on my futon.

And before I could anticipate it, the tears fell down on my face, then rolled down to my pillows and futon.

With my left hand still injured, I tried to suppress the pain while wiping my tears away. My eyelids hurt and sore by this time from crying non-stop in the past few days, ever since he said his farewell, and then his funeral.

And then I felt the pain.

Not the one on my left hand. Not the one on my eyelids.

It hurts, waking up to the realization that he’s not back for real. It was just the dream. I woke up to my reality and he’s still gone.

I remember his happy face and my mom’s in the dream. There we were, back together and happy again. It was so vivid.

Then the regret and guilt came back.

He’s still gone.

I should’ve valued him more.

I should’ve treated him better.

He’s been so good to us.

I never realized how selfless he’d been while he was still alive.

I forced my eyes closed to go back to sleep. Otherwise, I knew I’d go back crying the whole morning again.

I managed to sleep.

When I woke up, I looked upon my smartphone on the floor next to the futon and realized it’s still 8:30 AM.

The tears didn’t come back. The crying has stopped this time.

And my heart was still heavy.

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