Under My Skin

Chapter 26

We gathered in the masses, all in black, under the vaulted ceiling of the church. I knew almost no one, but I felt their loss. My fingers remained interlocked with Enzo's as the priest recited a bible verse about grief and death. Gianni stood next to me, and Jade stood next to him.

The entire church was filled. There were no seats available, and people lined the perimeter and stood in the isles. Quiet sobs echoed off the stone walls. Sniffles filled the empty space between the priest's sentences. Enzo squeezed my hand every few minutes out of rage and sadness just to ensure I was still there.

Our fingers pulled apart as Enzo approached the podium to give the first of many eulogies. I stared at the five caskets basking in the glow of the golden arches and the mural of clouds and angels set behind them. It was difficult to see the oak finish under the garden of white chrysanthemums blanketing each one.

As difficult as it was, Enzo praised the lives of those who were lost to us. The men who protected this family until their last breath, the ones who left wives and children behind, weighed heavy on his heart. However, none of that loss weighed heavier than the death of his own mother. Her casket lay in the middle. She would've been pleased. They used a picture of her from over a decade ago.

"She was magnificent. Not every mother put a gun in your hand and told you how to write your own future. She was fearless. She could stand in the fray while the house crumbled down on her and never flinched. She was kind - even if she had an odd way of showing it.

"My mother was the glue of this family. She fixed all my father's mistakes from the shadows. She repaired every fraying bond. She never asked for glory or praise. She did what she believed was right. More often than not, she was right.

"You never knew her intentions. Yet, they were always good. She did everything for the family. She did everything for Gianni and I. I wish I had the time to give all that back to her, and then some. My mother deserved the world, but never asked for more than a string of pearls."

Hours passed on as loved ones spoke on behalf of the dead. Midafternoon arrived by the time we made it to the graveyard. It smelled distinctly of mildew and fresh rain.

In front of his mother's tombstone in the family plot, I clung onto Enzo's arm. His grip on my hand never loosened. His eyes never strayed from her name. Neither did mine.

To lose your mother at the age of twenty-six, or twenty-two for Gianni, was unimaginable. To be orphaned in less than a year was inconceivable. To sacrifice yourself for the woman your son loved, even if you didn't enjoy her company in the slightest, was unforgettable. It was all unthinkable.

At the same time, it was another death because of me. It was a final sacrifice for the third time. How does someone determine that they'll die on behalf of someone else? How do they decide that the person they died for was worthy? I don't feel worthy. I don't think I am that important. I don't want to be that significant.

I not only mourned Mrs. Vitale. I mourned the four men. I mourned Marlena. I mourned Jeremy. I mourned Jade's innocence. I mourned my blissful ignorance. I mourned everything that was lost. I mourned the things that were and never will be again.

As I placed the chrysanthemum on the casket, I buried that grief. I forced it under the earth so that it may reach the River Styx and pass through the gates of the underworld. I gave it to those I had lost so that they would take it into heaven and see it healed.

With a hand on the casket, I whispered to Mrs. Vitale one last time, "I will endure for you, and for him. I will endure for all of them. But most importantly, I will endure for myself."

I finally understood what she meant by those words at the bridal salon. To endure for the men we love is to endure for ourselves. With that, I promised her: No one else will die for me.