It was getting late, and Carlos was still wide awake. As he sat in his favorite chair by the fire, he was looking through an old scrapbook that held his precious memories of he and Carmen before the war.

Tomorrow was Dia de los Muertos, and it reminded him of the day he walked into the house after seeing a forest of bandidos flooding out of his house one evening, and saw his wife lying on the floor with a stab wound in her stomach, and then he remembered Manolo.

Oh, his precious son; porbrecito, he was only six months old when it happened. He remembered Manolo's crib being covered in a blanket, and hearing his muffled cries.

Carmen had died protecting their son, and she was worthy of honor.

Now, it was five years later. Manolo was growing up, but of course was only 5. He knew of his mom's death, and why she died, but that didn't change the fact that he missed her with all his little heart.

The grandfather clock read 12:00 pm. Carlos knew he should get to bed for some rest. Because tomorrow was a holiday, everyone had to get cleaned up and prepare the foods to take to Carmen's grave.

But, as he was taking off his shoes, he heard something.

Creak Creak Creak

He looked behind the chair to see Manolo standing there in his pajamas; his Sanchez curl all mussed and out of place, he rubbed his eye with one hand, and held onto his teddy bear with the other.

He looked like he had been crying.

"Papa?"

Carlos greeted his son gently and with a smile.

"Manolo, what are you doing up?"

"I had a bad dream."

The father smiled and held out his arms; Manolo smiled, and ran into them until Carlos felt like his son was welding into his chest, and he felt the little body shaking.

"What was the dream about?"

Manolo sniffled and looked up at him with dripping eyes. Carlos had feared something like this would happen. When Manolo was only four, he complained about having a nightmare almost 24/7. Carlos took him to see a psychatrist and was told that because everyone can remember something from their youth, Manolo's subconscious was traumatized by the death of his mom happening right where he could see it.

Carlos thought that was impossible because baby Manolo was covered when it happened. Then it came to him; the blanket being used was actually quite thin, and was considered transparent. When it was pulled over someone's face, it was like looking through a window.

The nightmares stopped for a good three months, and now they were back.

"I dreamt that I saw Mama dying. Only she was singing as she fell to the floor."

Manolo's powerful memory was too much to handle when it came to detail. Carlos shuddered at the description. Then, when he felt Manolo quaking from the terrifying dream, he picked him up, and let his son rest in his arms.

"You're alright, Son."

Manolo then pulled his teddy close to him and he became sleepy as he heard the heartbeat of his father, but refused to rest into sleep for fear of another nightmare. Carlos never memorized the tune to the lullaby Carmen always sang to Manolo, but, he did remember the one song he used to sing to Manolo when he was a toddler.

A dor va la rosa de los rosales

y a dormir va mi nino porque ya es tarde

Este nino chiquito no tiene cuna

Su padre es carpintiro le va a hacer una.

(The best rose on the rose bush is going to sleep. My baby is going to sleep because it's already late. This little baby has no cradle. His father is a carpenter and will make him one.)

He looked down to see Manolo settling, and starting to relax, and sucking his thumb. Carlos then held Manolo closer to him and stood up, lightly bouncing the little one and making sure he felt secure.

"Shhh. Papa's here."

Little Manolo let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. "Goodnight Papa."

"Good night, Pequeno."

He heard the little snoring and seated himself back into the chair; all throughout the night, Manolo remained quiet, and slept peacefully. Carlos then knew that he really had the best gift of all.