THAT VIVIDLY SCARY DREAM

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I haven’t told Ma about this. I don’t think I have the heart.

            Last holiday, I was having my (unintentional) afternoon nap when I dreamed about her. I saw Ma sitting on the bed in her room with Dad, her back on the wall and her legs straight on the bed. I was standing by the bed, facing her.

            We were talking about Dad. I’d noticed some strange things in the dream:

            1.The bed was facing the door, not the French windows. (The bed is positioned that way – facing the windows – so it’ll be easier to reach Dad and move him around when we need to wash him, change his clothes, or change the bedspread and sheet.)

            2.Ma had looked sickly pale. The entire time we talked about Dad, her lips trembled and her voice shook. She often started with the same phrases:

            “Your father was…”

            “Your dad used to…”

 

            3.Dad wasn’t in the room. He wasn’t in the dream.

            That dream ended after Ma started to cry and so did I. She reached out to me and I climbed in bed and crawled into her arms and wept, like a little girl being bullied by schoolmates and desperately seeking for protection and comfort…

            Then I woke up. My cheeks felt wet. I searched for the mirror and saw what I didn’t really want to see:

          &nbsp

; My tear-streaked face, with such hollowness in a pair of dark brown eyes staring back at me.

            I only told a few about this scary dream. Gigi. T, alias Hazel Eyes. Lisa R.(not Lisa J.) Mz.D. Ma’s youngest sister Menti.

            Who else? Nah, just them. I don’t feel like telling more people than I should.

            So far, no response from Mz.D. T asked me what it could’ve meant. (“I don’t know, buddy. Ma’s not as tough as she always seems to be, perhaps?”)

            Gigi, Lisa R., and Menti had asked me to regard it as ‘just another bad dream’. (Another one too many?) They urged me to keep on praying for Dad, and so would they.

            “Please, don’t tell Ma,” I begged Menti and she understood. I don’t have the heart. Ma has been through a lot…

            Well, this means I’m also telling you, readers. My father is very, very sick. He’s in a critical condition. Care to pray for him, please?

            This is my last week at work before my two-week-leave-by-request. I’ll be staying home to help my brother take care of Dad while Ma’s on her religious retreat called ‘umrah’ in Saudi Arabia with her sisters and their husbands. I want her to leave without worrying too much about Dad. She deserves this break.

            In the end, we can only do our best.

            “If anything happens, I’ve stored some papers and left some numbers to call. You know where you can find them.” Ma gazed seriously at me. I just nodded and said nothing.

            Anything. We all know what that single word can turn into, especially in circumstances like this.

            Anything…

 

            R.

 

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January 17, 2014

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