Without even giving time a reaction, without informing or measure, I went to the Morgue. My mind was turns, so many memories, faced I couldn’t believe them. So I arrived without delay; I started to ask questions, there were no answers, it seems that I had converted into an invisible being, that there were, I did not understand, or didn’t understand me. Harrowing moments that showed the temple that my father had forged in me. Then, when my tears sprang up for the first time, as if they had generated pity, a doctor approached me, wore an folder, took careful note of the data that I provided him and after a brief consultation, returned showing sadness in his face, was left to see afflicted; did me know that my brother had buried him in a mass grave in the cemetery of the city of Valencia. Anguish began to wreak havoc in my body, I felt violated, vejado, furious, the man who I admired most in my life had been buried as a beggar without getting any of their loved ones accompany him, tell some words or at least give you some prayer. To that point, and in those moments, no one came to give me light, didn’t know what to do.
Life not prepares us for certain things. But speaking of corpses and dead, came to me to mind the possibility of a solution, I went to a funeral home and after accept and pay certain amount of money, they covered the necessary requirements and in a couple of days is it allowed me as a witness to recognize the dead body of my brother. Those are dark memories that wouldn’t let me sleep during countless nights and occasionally will make present. We arrived at the cemetery, it was a journey into the unknown, a path in which there were no words, the mutis was a general, and therefore I noticed with great force, what of the deathly silence, whose meaning contains something more than just a phrase.