Page 102 of Sins of Bliss

“Questa è una storia per un altro giorno, figlio mio. Vieni, si sta facendo tardi, il sole è quasi tramontato. È ora che mi porti a casa così potrai tornare da tua moglie.”That’s a story for another day, my son. Come, it is getting late—the sun is almost down. It is time for you to take me home so you can return to your wife.

Standing, I help Mamma to her feet, placing my hand on the middle of her back to guide her through the park and to where we left my SUV. Warmth floods my heart as we enjoy small talk and the rest of the beautiful sunset, strolling slowly together.

When I open the passenger door, I kiss the side of her head before helping her to get in. “Grazie per avermi accompagnato a cena, mamma.”Thank you for accompanying me to dinner, Mamma.

Reaching up, she touches her palm to my cheek, looking at me with the same love pouring from her that I was lucky enough to grow up with. “Certo, Sylvester. Sarai sempre il mio ragazzino.”Of course, Sylvester. You will always be my little boy.

Chapter 38

Vinnie

Grief is a fickle thing. One moment, you can be going about your day as normal, and the next you’re breaking down in the middle of a busy sidewalk, so inundated with sadness it physically hurts to move.

My grief is like driftwood riding on an ocean wave—calm and steady, floating beneath the bright sun, until the tide picks up and suddenly the driftwood is pulled beneath a wave by force, unable to fight its way back to the surface until the water mollifies.

Throughout my days, I’m strong for my mother. I take on the planning of the funerals because she’s so consumed by her grief she can barely make it out of bed in the morning.

Every day passes like it’s been a thousand years, and I’m forced to hold it together for the sake of my family, until the night falls and I’m back home in Sly’s arms, where I can finally crumble.

My husband is my solace. Patient and kind, he holds me tightly in our bed, stroking my hair while he allows me to completely shatter, knowing it’s what I need to heal.

He feeds me. Makes sure I’m staying hydrated. Even bathes me when I’m too weak to do it myself.

I don’t know what I’d do without him.

I don’t know what I did todeservehim.

“Tell me what you need, piccola ladra,” he says, kissing my temple as the family limo pulls in front of the gravesite for my father’s funeral.

We buried my brother three days ago in a burial much smaller than the one planned for my father.

Looking out the window, there are a hundred or so chairs facing an open hole in the ground, and my father’s closed coffin held up by supports.

Almost every chair is filled, except for the front row, which has been saved for us.

Across the limo, mother sobs quietly into Luciano’s jacket as he holds her, and Samuele stares down at his lap, like he did the entire ride over.

“I don’t know what I need,” I tell Sly, answering his question. Sadness sits heavy in my chest and I know for the time being, there is no remedy.

The driver opens the door, and my husband slides out first, holding his hand to help me. I take it, and pull myself out, the skirt of my black dress billowing down to my knees as I stand. Lowering my sunglasses, I allow Sly to guide me over to the chairs as the rest of my family gets out of the limo.

An endless sea of black apparel and gloomy faces watches us all closely as we take our seats in the front row and wait for the eulogist to begin. Lacing my arm around Sly’s, he places his hand on my thigh, stroking it with his thumb. It brings me comfort and allows me to push back the tears I’m holding in.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the eulogist greets. “It is with great sorrow that we gather here today to honor and remember a life who was not only impactful to his family, but to his community. Maurizio Paladino touched the lives of many, and to know him was to respect and appreciate the great gifts he gave to thosewhose lives he entered. I’d like to call upon his brother, Marcel, to speak a few words.”

My mother grabs my hand from my lap, pulling it into hers.

As my uncle begins to speak about my father, I close my eyes and let myself drift to the recesses of my mind in an effort to push past my grief. I think of my childhood and the happy memories with my father, seeing them flash through my mind like a movie in slow motion. The memories progress from my childhood to my adulthood, the recent years flashing through my mind more prominently—even the less than desirable moments. Then my thoughts drift to Sly, the baby, and the family we’re creating.

I lose all perception of how much time has passed, and before I know it, everyone is standing in preparation to say goodbye to my father for the last time.

One by one, guests step forward to pay their respects, placing a rose on top of his casket or simply touching the side of it. They give us their condolences, and many hug my mother, praising her strength, and my father’s life and accomplishments.

I don’t hear a word that is said, but beside me, Sly thanks each person who steps forward to speak to us.

The only thing I’m feeling is numb when it’s finally just my family left at the gravesite.

My mother’s tears have intensified, and this time, it’s Samuele who comforts her, sitting with her, rubbing her back.

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