Rory gathered up the children and took them inside. Camila followed.
Bernard stared down at his father’s unconscious form. His eyes moved to each person, but nobody moved.
“We need to do something!” Bernard cried.
“I called nine-one-one. They’ll be here in ten minutes.” Bernard looked over to see Antonia.
“Give me space. He needs air. I need everyone to back away,” Bella commanded.
The group moved back in unison. Bernard watched as Bella continued CPR on his father. She was a registered nurse and she would help him. Everything was going to be okay.
Bella got him breathing, though his breaths were shallow. She gave him an aspirin and took his pulse.
It was the longest ten minutes of his life. The ambulance arrived and two paramedics moved his father onto a stretcher. They lifted him into the ambulance.
“I’m going with him,” Bernard said.
“What’s your relationship?” one of the paramedics asked him.
“He’s my father.”
They motioned him in.
Bernard held his dad’s hand. “It’s going to be all right, Dad. They’re gonna take care of you.” He stared down at his father’s glassy eyes.
“I love you, son,” he whispered, then closed his eyes.
A rhythmic beeping sound echoed in Bernard’s ears as he focused on his father.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, softer this time.
Chapter Thirty-One
Bernard
Friday, December 11–Wednesday, December 16
IT WAS THEFriday after his birthday. Bernard sat in the pew with his family, Rory on his left and Emilio on his right. He fought back tears as the preacher gave the eulogy. The priest described his father as a powerful man and hard worker and talked about his dedication to his family. The usual garbage they said at a funeral.
The priest didn’t know his father. He couldn’t pronounce his name. He had nothing special to say about him. The man couldn’t even translate the eulogy into Portuguese for his family. The church found a translator. The priest spoke too fast for the Portuguese and sign language translators. The poor women couldn’t keep up. It infuriated Bernard that they couldn’t find a bilingual priest for a Portuguese funeral.
“Does the family wish to speak?” the preacher asked.
As the eldest, it was Bernard’s duty to speak first.
He walked up to the podium.
He looked over at the Portuguese translator. “You can take a break. I can translate.”
The woman smiled and sat down.
“Hello, My name is Bernardo Francisco Silva. My father, João Tomás Silva”—Bernard emphasized his father’s name as he looked at the priest—“loved me unconditionally. He never judged me or told me my dreams were wrong. My father knew I was gay before I came out and accepted me for it. He took care of me and my brother after our mother passed away and saved up money to send me to college to follow my passion. He did everything for me, and now he’s gone. I didn’t have time to thank him for all he’s done for me. I can never hug him or confide in him again. I’m going to miss my father more than anything in this world. I love you, Dad, and thank you for always believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.”
Bernard repeated his speech in Portuguese for his family. He wanted to say more, but the words got stuck.
His brother followed with a heartfelt speech. Bernard registered his pain. Their father was close to both of them. Emilio followed in his footsteps and owned a small farm. His father helped him with startup money. They owed their father everything.
They buried his father in the family plot of the cemetery. Bernard and Emilio stayed behind as family and friends left.
