Booth Three

26

WARNING: Get the tissues... 

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Diego clings onto my hand, keeping me as close to him as he possibly can. He doesn't want to be here. He shouldn't have to be. His mother's cries can be heard from outside the building. She's wailing as bad as she was on the day it happened — on the day she lost her husband. The tears haven't stopped coming. They've been filling up the house for days. She can barely form a coherent sentence. She can barely get a word out before the sobs continue. Diego's uncle Kaleem has been by her side the whole time, just as he is now. The rest of his extended family sit behind us, quietly chatting amongst themselves while they wait for the ceremony to begin.

Diego's siblings are silent. They're sitting alongside us in the front row — all of them, and their partners, except for the youngest. Violet stands in the back of the room, right beside the entrance. She has a deep scowl on her face, just like everyone else in the room.

They didn't want a big funeral. They wanted something small and intimate — something meaningful. This building represents that perfectly. It's a rustic cottage-style space, but it's not a home. There is no kitchen or bathroom, just one, open space. The walls are entirely made of glass windowpanes, separated by wooden muntin's. With the hundreds of pot plants inside, the place feels like a greenhouse.

The building sits atop a mountain, looking out over the neighbourhood. I can see Ferrari Stadium on our left, and the New York City skyline on our right. Getting up here wasn't easy, but it was worth the walk. It's secluded up here, and quiet. We can't hear any of the press that's congregated at the base of the mountain, or any of the security guards keeping them out.

It's just us.

Kaleem gets up out of his seat, resting Lucy's head on the shoulder of Diego's older sister Maritza. He stands at the front of the room, besides Oliver's black casket. He doesn't waste any time with greetings and jumps right into his speech.

"Oliver has always been my best friend," he says. "Ever since we were kids, it was always the three of us – myself, Liam, and Ollie. The three of us were inseparable. We were indestructible. Nothing could keep us apart. I could give you a million examples of times we nearly got there — of times we fought or argued and swore we would never speak to each other again, but every single one of those times would be followed by laughter and love. Love here... is a keyword. Love has always been a critical factor in Oliver's life — whether it be a lack thereof or an abundance — love defined him as a person, and as a man."

He takes a brief pause for a sip of water but then continues.

"Oliver Ferrari was the greatest person any of us have ever known," he states. "I say that confidently, and without hesitation. And I can tell you now, you will never meet another person like him. To describe him as kind or friendly would be an understatement. He wasn't just kind. He was compassionate, considerate, and warm-hearted. He approached every day as if it was an opportunity — a chance to learn, or grow, or help another. But more importantly, every day was a chance for him to love. That was his greatest strength. Oliver loved with not just his heart, but with his whole being. He drenched us in love, making sure that we couldn't so much as doubt his dedication."

A few light chuckles sound through the room, but they're no relief from the crippling agony.

"Over the years, I watched Oliver grow. I saw him suffer and I saw him thrive. I watched him cry, and I watched him laugh. I watched him fall in love and build a family, become a husband and a father, and most importantly, I watched him grow into himself. I watched him become the man we all know and love — the protector, the joker, the supporter. He was an old soul, providing guidance and words of wisdom to anyone who'd listen. And I... I feel blessed that I got to watch him become the man he was. We were all lucky. We were lucky to have ever known him and to have known him as long as we did. He was sensitive and strong, and he-," he turns to the casket beside him. "Ollie, my man... Fuck-."

He looks away, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. He shakes his head. His eyes begin to water and glisten under the light. I hear a few others sniffle, struggling to keep their composure.

"This is... this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do," Kaleem breathes, glancing back over at Oliver. "I just... you fucking killed it, man. You have the best family, the best kids, and you- you shouldn't have fucking died, man, you shouldn't have fucking died."

A few tears escape his eyes, training down his cheeks to his jaw, but it's nothing compared to the loud wail Lucy lets out. Diego removes his hand from mine, getting up to comfort his uncle. He embraces him in a tight hug, letting him cry into his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he sniffs. "I can't do this shit, man."

"I know, I know. I get it. I do," Diego pats him on the back. "This shit isn't fair. It's not fair."

"It's all on you now. You do your dad proud, kid," Kaleem reluctantly pulls away, giving Diego a final clap on the back before he takes his seat behind Lucy, returning to his position as her support person.

Diego turns towards us uncomfortably. He doesn't want to be up there. I warned him it'd be hard, but he insisted. He wanted to do this. He wanted to make a speech.

He glances my way, seeking some sort of relief. I shoot him a proud smile. He can do this. Even if he cries, he should say what he needs to now that he has the chance.

"I, uhm-," he pulls a small note out of his jacket. "I've spent the past few days trying to figure out what to say, but nothing feels good enough. I keep going over it in my head — thinking of all the things I'd like to say to my dad, and to you guys, but I just end up getting mad. It's not fair, you know? He was our strength. He was the one that kept us going, the one person we could always rely on. And without him... how can we survive? How can we wake up every morning knowing he won't be there — knowing he's been taken from us too soon?"

He stops for a moment, taking a deep breath before he continues.

"I will never recover from this. We will never recover from this. Never. It's not possible. It will never stop hurting. But it doesn't have to. And we don't have to recover. We just have to reach the point where the pain is bearable," he says. "We have to learn to live with the pain. We have to grow and adapt around it. We should appreciate the time we got to spend with him, while we grieve the loss of what could have been. His time on this earth may have been short, but it was great. What he achieved in one lifetime, we could only dream of... He lived strong and passionately and thoughtfully. And I... I am my father's son. His legacy lives on in me and in every single one of us, and if we get through this together — the way he would have wanted us to — then maybe, just maybe, we can begin to fill his footsteps."