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  • For years after one of my older brothers died, every once in a while I would dream of him. It was more or less the same dream in different settings and places. It was the same in that I would be fighting him in every one of them. And he would never fight back. As in his life, he was a pacifist. He detested violence. Yet in the dream for some reason I would be mightily pissed off with him and would attack him before waking up. I hated the dream. I would remember every detail of it and would carry it with me through the day. I couldn't understand why I was having the dream. I still really don't, but the dreams stopped with time. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years.

    I loved him a lot but I never got to hang out with him as much as I feel I should have. I don't know why because he was great fun, a wonderful fun-loving guy. Yet we rarely went clubbing or partying together. The times that we did, I remember having marvellous times. There were gigs where I went DJying where I could have invited him yet because of one thing or another I always ended up doing more stuff with my oldest brother, the wild and naughty one whose notoriety was of urban legend status.

    After Charlie died we all found out about his child when one of his ex-girlfriends turned up at the funeral with the boy in tow. I am not sure that even he knew he had a child because he had lost contact with the ex after finding her in another man's arms in the home they shared. I guess the ex knew who the real father was.

    There is so much that I wish I had done with Charlie that I will never be able to do and for years I hated myself for not having enjoyed more of his short life with him. I think my fighting dreams were also because subconciously I think I blamed him for dying too soon. For dying before I could get a chance to wise up and appreciate him for who he was. There is absolutely nothing I can do about this.

    His son would be in his early twenties now and I have no idea where he is. I will have to find him.
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