This Is My Love

A week later, the day of Bernie's service came. The church service was lovely, the pastor's sermon a perfect blend of relevant stories from the bible, and lovely words about Bernie that lasted about an hour. Next, we all drove over to the beach that Eric, Pete and I all paid to keep empty for three hours for what we called the memorial service. Pete Senior brought Bernie's ashes, which were contained in a beautiful ivory colored porcelain urn and kept on a small stand underneath a white canopy, which stood over a matching white rug. Next to her ashes was a lone microphone, where everyone could go up and speak. Share stories of Bernie and talk about how much she meant to them, how much they missed her and how amazing a person she was. None of us wanted her service to be one of those sad, dreary funerals, where everyone sat and stared at the former shell of the person laying in a casket, to forever have that as their last visual of her, while a pastor droned on about stories in the bible, hardly ever mentioning the beloved deceased's name. We did what Bernie would have wanted and, instead of mourning her death and the time we won't have with her, we celebrated her life and the time we did have with her, safe in the knowledge that she was somewhere glorious. Meanwhile, we all sat at the numerous tables and ate good food and everyone who could drink drank good alcohol, and we laughed, and we cried, and we found comfort in each other, and it's just what Bernie would have loved, we were sure.
As I stood at the edge of the ocean, my feet in the water as I gazed out towards the horizon and gently stroked my stomach, loving the feeling of the baby moving around beneath my hands, someone came to stand beside me and placed their hand on my back.
"Enjoying the view, honey dew?" I looked over and smiled softly at my dad. He was smiling back at me, his turned up lips causing little crinkles to form at the edges of his eyes, which were slightly red from his constantly and gruffly wiping below them to get rid of tears before anyone saw them.
"Hey, pops. How are you holding up?" I asked him, since I knew Bernie's death saddened him much more than he let on. He and my mother were the first friends Bernie and Pete Senior made when they moved to Waikiki and remained the closest of friends, even after my mom passed. And now it was just Pete Senior and him. I also knew that the loss of Bernie and everything surrounding it, especially the church service, brought back memories of my own mother's death, which he had said was the saddest day of his life.
"I'm bereaved, of course. But, I'm okay. I'm more worried about the poor Hernandez's," he spoke softly as he gestured behind us, where Pete and his family were scattered throughout the rest of their family and friends. I nodded my head in agreement.
"Me, too. She was so incredibly loved and terribly missed," I whispered. My dad smiled and gave a small rub of my back.
"She is," he stated, then gestured to my large belly. "How's my little mo`opuna doing in there?" He asked, using the Hawaiian word for grandchild. I smiled and glanced down to my belly, smoothing out my just above the knee length dress, which had a layer of lace in black over an attached white cotton slip that ended a little before the lace. I bought it especially for this day, for it had the black to represent my state of mourning, but not so much as to be depressing, for I knew Bernie wouldn't want that. Even though, if I could get away with it, I'd be wearing all black for a whole week. It was just how I felt.
"They're doing good. They haven't stopped kicking all day," I answered. My dad let out a soft chuckle/grunt.
"They're ready to get out here. They want to see what all the commotion is about," he joked. I gave a quiet giggle and ran my hand back and forth across my hill of a stomach.
"I'd love that, actually."

Half an hour later almost everyone had stood at the microphone and spoke about Bernie, sharing stories and just speaking about how her death made them feel. Pete's eulogy was heart wrenching, his voice cracking at times as he tried to keep himself from fully weeping as he spoke about how much he missed her already and shared stories about his childhood with her, most of them including me and his siblings. I cried quietly the whole time, no matter how hard I tried not to, for Pete would constantly look over to me, seemingly for strength, and I knew that looking over to me each time to see me crying would only make him want to cry more.
I knew that it would soon be my turn to go up, and I was dreading it. I had nothing written, for I wanted it to come naturally from my heart, but I was terrified I'd get up there and, as soon as the memory I wanted to share entered my mind, I would start bawling like a fool. I wasn't looking forward to it. But, I knew I had to do it. I would do it for Bernie, because I loved her and she deserved to be remembered and spoke about, no matter how much it hurt.
I approached the microphone, my glass of sparkling white grape juice in one hand and a butter knife in the other. Once I was behind the microphone, I gently clinked the knife against the glass a few times to get the attention of anyone who hadn't already noticed I stepped up there, and pushed up the power switch to turn it on. My dad walked up and held out his hand, gesturing for me to place the butter knife in it to get it out of my way. I handed it to him and smiled as I whispered a thanks before he turned around and walked back to our table, which was one of the ones in the front closest to the microphone. I looked over to the urn containing Bernie's remains beside me and sighed sadly before beginning to speak.
"Bernadette Hernandez was one of the strongest, kindest, gentlest, most loving people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. She was like a second mother to me, and she took me into her arms and heart and loved me like another daughter. When my own mother passed, she was constantly coming over and checking on my dad and I. She would bring us home cooked meals and take me out on girl's days with Presley, making sure we got a consistent, healthy dose of manicures and make overs." I smiled fondly at Presley and wiped away a tear that fell at the memories of our lunches and trips to the salon together. This also brought tears to Presley's eyes, which she dabbed at with a tissue as she smiled up to me and giggled quietly.
"Bernadette did this not only out of love for me, but also out of love for my mom who, along with my dad, was the first friend she made after her husband and children moved here. She and my mom continued to be the closest of friends, like sisters, and my mom loved her as such. I believe the Hernandez's and the Aniani's were always meant to be together... As one family."
I looked over to Pete and smiled. Tears were tricking from his eyes and dripping from his chin, for he didn't move his hand from over his heart as he listened and watched me to wipe them away. He nodded his head in agreement and mouthed an 'I love you' through a small smile.
"Bernadette did a lot for my family. She did a lot for me. She showed me what it was like to be part of a large family, she helped me with boy problems when my mom wasn't around to do so anymore, and always with a soothing touch that helped me realize it wasn't the end of the world." I giggled at the memories of me, crying because some guy walked all over my feelings and Bernie, the woman she was, gently telling me he was just some asshole. A stepping stone to the love of my life. Everyone else chuckled quietly and sniffled as they dried fresh tears from below their eyes.
"Bernie also introduced me to the only man I've ever loved... The man I continue to love more than life itself... And changed my life for the better, forever," I stated before sharing the memory of the first time Pete and I met.

1997

"Ano! Someone's here to see you!" My mom hollered happily from the front door. I hopped up from my bed and out of my bedroom door before practically skipping down the hall, assuming it was Bruce Ferrara, the boy who lived two doors down and who I had a huge crush on. He had been coming over almost every day the past month or so, and we would walk to the beach and hold hands and kiss. He even told me he loved me. But, when I got to the door to stand beside my mom, I was greeted by the smiling face of our new neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez, and a boy. He looked to be about my age and had big, curly hair and smooth, tan skin. He didn't look too happy to be there, like he had better things to do, but once I stood in front of him and smiled, his entire demeanor changed. After a quick scam of my features, his eyes went a little wide and he uncrossed his arms before straightening out his stance and quietly clearing his throat. Mrs. Hernandez looked down at him and gave him a small, knowing smile before looking back over to me.
"Ano, this is my youngest son, Peter," she stated, gesturing to the boy standing next to her. I smiled at her before turning my eyes and smile to the boy and extending my hand out to him.
"Hi, Peter. It's such a pleasure to meet you. My name's Ano," I introduced myself with the manners my parents instilled in me. Mrs. Hernandez giggled and looked over to my mom, who was still standing beside me, watching Peter and I with a smile.
"Such manners! I love it," she exclaimed quietly, causing my mom to giggle. Peter took my hand and shook it slowly and gently, seemingly in a small sort of trance.
"It's my pleasure. I promise," he almost whispered. My mom and Mrs. Hernandez shot each other a shocked but amused look.
"What a little ladies' man!" My mom half whispered, half exclaimed to Mrs. Hernandez, as if whispering meant we couldn't hear them, as mom's often do, but Pete and I ignored it, as kids often do.
Thinking back on it now, and after Pete telling me that he "had loved me since the moment he met me", I can't believe how oblivious I was.
"Why don't you two hang out a little and get to know each other? From what I hear, you two have a lot in common," Mrs. Hernandez suggested. Pete nodded his head, seemingly liking the idea, but I hesitated. I wanted to see Bruce. He should have been there any minute. But, after glancing up at my mom and seeing her raised eyebrow, I sighed inwardly and nodded my head as well.
"I would like that very much," I almost muttered, my manners in tact but hardly able to hide my disappointment. "What did you want to do?"
"I hear you're a musician, Ano. Pete here has been playing music all his life," Mrs. Hernandez informed me with a wink. I immediately pepped up at this information and smiled.
"Really?" I asked as I looked back over to Peter, excited at having someone else my age to play music with, outside of the school band where I played the saxophone, that is. Peter smiled and nodded his head enthusiastically. My smile widened and I held my hand out to him.
"Let's go!" I exclaimed. Peter took my hand and I pulled him into the house and down to the basement area, which my dad had finished, sound proofed and put all the instruments in so we had a nice place to play. Once down there, Peter picked up my guitar, I sat behind my drums and the rest, as they say, is history.
Our history.

"Bernie knew from the beginning Pete and I were meant to be. And I'll be eternally grateful to her for bringing us together." I wiped at the fresh tears that fell never ending from my ducts and looked over to her urn before smiling. "Thank you, Bernie. You were an incredible woman and I'll always love you. I know you're smiling down on us now, perfectly content in paradise with the people you loved who passed before you. Give my mom a hug for me, and rest easy until I see you again," I whispered, for I was really talking to her and didn't mean for it to be part of my eulogy. As more memories passed through my mind and I thought of all the things I would miss about her, and all of the things I still wanted her to be there for, like the birth of Pete and I's child, that child's first Christmas, birthday and first words... The chance for her to spoil them rotten every time they stayed over at Grandma and Grandpa Hernandez's house, I finally broke down and began to weep into my hands, my sides tightening as sobs wracked my body. I held my finger up, signaling for everyone not to worry, that I was fine. But, I wasn't expecting what happened next.
After one particularly large sob wracked my body, my stomach began to tighten worse than I'd ever experienced. My hand flew down and gripped at my stomach. It felt like steel beneath my fingers. Soon, I began to feel a wetness between my legs. It began to drip down the inside of my thigh, and that's when I realized what was going on. I looked up and over to Pete, who knew something wasn't right and had shot up from his chair and was now standing there, ready to bolt over to me in a moment's notice. I gestured for him to come over to me, and he quickly did so. Once he reached me, he placed his hand on my lower back and examined me, his eyes wide with panic and worry.
"What's wrong, baby?" He asked me, his voice quivering slightly. I tried to keep my breathing even and not get any more worked up than I already was.
"My... My water just broke," I whispered to him. He gasped, his eyes widening even more before a large small broke out on his face.
"Are you sure?" He asked. I shot him a look that said 'of course I'm sure!" before gritting my teeth as another of what I assumed was a contraction tore through my lower abdomen, my muscles tightening until they were hard as rock.
"Yep, this baby is coming out, and in a hurry," I groaned. Pete let out a disbelieving, airy laugh.
"It's really happening? We're going to be parents... You're going to be a mom, baby.... I'm going to be a dad," he whispered through a dreamy smile before turning around to face everyone else; my dad, Pete's dad, sisters Eric and his wife all standing at their tables, ready to help if it was needed, and widened his smile even more, if such a thing was possible. "The baby's coming! It's coming... Right now!"
Everyone gasped and began to chatter amongst themselves while all of our family that was standing ran out from behind their tables and up to us.
"I'll go get the car," Pete Senior informed us excitedly before running up the beach towards the parking lot. Pete held his hand under his and wrapped his other arm around my waist to support me as the contraction passed. Eric's wife, Lindia, came around to my other side to hold my other hand.
"Let's get you up to the car, sweetie," she cooed. I nodded my head and took a deep breath in before allowing them to usher me up the beach to the edge of the parking lot. Presley stayed behind with the rest of her sisters to thank everyone for coming to to clean up before meeting everyone else at the hospital.
As we approached the car, my dad jogged ahead of us and quickly got the back door for me before Pete helped me into the car. Pete Senior got out of the driver's side and walked around to our side.
"You drive them. I'll go with Eric in his car and follow you guys there," he informed my dad as he handed him the keys. My dad thanked him and gave him a pat on the shoulder before running to the driver's side door and hopping in.
"I'm going to ride along with them," Lindia told Eric and Pete Senior. They both nodded their heads before Eric gave her a quick peck on the lips and turned to run to his car with his son Liam and Pete Senior.
Once I was comfortably in my seat, Pete shut my door behind me and ran over to the other side of the car before getting in and sliding into the middle seat to be directly next to me while Lindia got into the passenger's seat.
"Here, lay back against me, baby," Pete whispered before gently guiding me to turn to face the window so my back was to him, his own body angled towards me and right leg bent up on the seat. He guided me back into his chest and wrapped his arms around me before placing his hands in each of mine. My dad started the car and began to drive, his grip white knuckled on the steering wheel. When I noticed it, the fact that it was out of his fatherly concern made me smile.
"Calm down, pops. I'm fine," I spoke to him from the back seat. He chuckled and glanced at me from the review mirror.
"I know you are, honey dew. You're strong like your mother was. She barely made a sound the whole time she was in labor with you," he stated, a smile on his face at the memory of my birth. I smiled at this. Pete gave a gentle squeeze of my hand to get my attention and I titled my head to look up into his face. He was smiling down at me, his eyes shimmering with pride.
"I love you, baby," he whispered down to me. I smiled up to him and sighed.
"I love you, too, Bruno."