What A Song Could Do

Epilogue

Epilogue

9 a.m. on a Thursday May. I watched my brother walk in front of thousands of people to deliver his oration. Today, he was graduating college.

Although it seemed like it was only yesterday when he was fourteen, when he was letting me take him to his dates, or when he was asking for help in his homeworks, I knew at least he had grew to become the person I knew mom was proud of—even dad, or even me.

I sat at the audience next to my dad, watching him deliver his speech. I know it was a bias to say that my brother's speech was beautifully well spoken compared to the earlier two, but I couldn't help but to be amazed on how descriptive he was on telling us his experiences during the past years. I could just imagine him writing this.

He spoke about the time when he could barely pull himself out of bed every morning, or about the time when he almost cried because he couldn't keep up with all of the deadlines. He laughed. He said that being a college student wasn't easy. But he kept his word to mom, and promised her that he will never give up, whatever it is. In the end, he made it as the top of the list.

Somehow I didn't know this. Somehow, I know.

Then Hank pauses and looks at me. I wasn't sure if everyone else was doing the same, but he says that he wasn't going to be the person he was today if it wasn't for his big brother—if it wasn't for me.

And as he ended his speech and congratulated his fellow graduates, everyone stood up and clapped. I squeezed my father's shoulders because somehow he was tearing up. It was the second time I saw him cry ever since mom died.

He asked me to take his place at the diploma-awarding ceremonies instead.

I asked him why.

"You've been more of a father figure to him than I was," he answered.

I wasn't sure if that was true but I asked him again, "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure," he said.

And then when I stood up and met Hank halfway through the stage, I kept thinking, if I was in Hank's place, would my life be any different the way it was today? Probably, but I wouldn't want that. I was just nervous.

"It's going to be fine," he tells me.

"I've never had a brother who graduated college," I said. "It's a first."

He smiled. "Well, I never had a rockstar brother who is afraid of graduating college students."

I smiled back. "I guess it's a first."

By the time I held the dean's hand and took the medal and slid it in Hank's neck, I couldn't stop looking at my father at the audience. I hugged Hank tight and told him, "Mom would be so happy to see you if she's here."

"I'm sure she is," he said.

At the end of the program, of course, it wasn't going to be the end without everyone tossing their caps in the air. I watched Hank say his goodbyes to his friends. Probably, it would be the last time they would be seeing each other.

And then as we drove home, my mind wandered into other things. I turned to the window. I grabbed my phone and composed a message to someone I knew who is already long gone.

To: Matthew Wallace

It's Hank's graduation today. He finally made it. And guess what? He's a cumlaude. I'm really happy for him. I think dad was crying today too. Maybe he didn't let me know, but I knew.