It was a memorial service broadcast via Skype in December 2021. Days of COVID-19 kept us all at
home and not in central Florida where family man, Fabio, was remembered as a saint by the Brazilian
Catholic priest and close family members. I joined the memorial service along with my partner,
Fabio’s Japanese cousin, Shigeo.
We have a photo of Fabio in our living room. The year was 1996. He’s wearing a smile that draws you
in. Fabio, Shigeo, and I were rollerblading at the beach in Santa Monica. It was his idea of course
– we were all first time rollerbladers. The happiness depicted in the photo was his signature,
grinning from ear to ear – and taking you along with him. He was living proof that the language of
laughter is universal.
That year, Fabio’s mother sent him to Los Angeles to attend an intense English language course at a
local university. It was something done to enhance his employability in a growing Brazilian
international economy. Her other motive was to get him away from a young woman with whom he had become romantically involved. I recall hearing something about a class difference that drove the
matriarch to resort to such drastic – and expensive measures.
Fabio’s father emigrated from Japan to Brazil in 1961, joining hundreds of thousands of other
Japanese citizens who made the same move, dating back to the early 1900s. Farming, farm
machinery, agriculture, and trade represented big opportunities for those willing to take the giant
leap around the world, often times leaving loved ones behind, in search of a better life. In this
case, Fabio’s dad made the move with his mother. He would settle down, become a successful
businessperson, and marry a Japanese-Brazilian woman.
Fabio was the youngest of two children. He and his sister lived a life of wealth and privilege in
an upscale area of Campinas, northwest of Sao Paulo. His dad died an early death, in his 60s, a few
years before his grandmother died. She lived to the age of 103-years. Now, as the leader of the
family, it was Fabio’s responsibility to establish himself and take care of his mother and sister.
At a fairly young age, he had big shoes to fill. Fabio struggled at the university and in
identifying a career for himself. Eventually, he landed on his feet.
Fabio had a natural gift. It was his key to a good life. And while he didn’t succeed in the
academic world, it was in the world of business that he found his calling. A successful mobile
phone franchise as well as a car stereo business helped the family flourish. Fabio had a way with
people that was disarming. I experienced it in 1996 while he stayed in our home in Los Angeles. The
complete opposite of my Japanese partner, Fabio was totally Brazilian. Open, gregarious, engaging,
and humorous was his lasting calling card. Even with limited English speaking ability, strangers
wanted to be around the guy with the big smile and effervescing face. Both Shigeo and I are
reserved personalities. Being around Fabio triggered thunderous belly laughs and grins – as he
constantly tested his brand of Portuguese-English humor on us.
Years later, a tanking Brazilian economy and rising crime drove the family decision to relocate to
the United States. They chose Orlando, Florida as the place to establish roots. Fabio, his wife and
two children, along with his mother, left Brazil and other relatives behind. In the early 2000s, the entire family visited us in Long Beach. I observed Fabio the husband, father, and mature son. He was different. Now, as the obvious head of the family, he made decisions for the good of everyone. It was in stark contrast to the uncertain and sometimes reckless young man from 1996. Thankfully, his laughter and sense of humor remained the same.
By the year 2021, Fabio's two sons were young men. Fabio and his wife, along with his mother, had begun to create a good life for themselves in the United States. All was well. And then November eleventh happened.
One evening, while driving home from work, Fabio exited the freeway and proceeded across an
intersection. As the signal changed to green - and in a flash, the driver of a pick-up truck ran a red
light, slammed violently into Fabio’s vehicle and that of another driver, killing Shigeo’s cousin,
the holder of the family’s American dreams and wishes, instantly. The driver of the other vehicle
was critically injured and taken to a local hospital where he continues to recover. The man
responsible for Fabio’s death took off on foot but was later apprehended by police. He awaits
trial.
We joined the memorial service from our living room in Long Beach. There wasn’t a dry eye in the
chapel or the homes located in Orlando, Campinas, Fremont and wherever loved ones streamed the service from.
The languages spoken were Portuguese, Japanese, and English. Not everyone understood all that was
shared but I could feel the emotional highs and lows being captured in each person’s tone, expression, and heart.
The lows occurred when we considered how much we would miss Fabio’s smile. The highs were driven by the incredible joy we recalled from having lived a life with Fabio in it.
Until that day in December, I had always imagined, yet never experienced, that no matter the
language, Portuguese, Japanese, or English, some things are universal.
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