Today, We Lay Them to Rest
Today, we lay Diego Jota and Fabinho to rest. The morning sky was gray, as though the heavens themselves mourned alongside us. The chapel was quiet but heavy—not with silence, but with the weight of hearts breaking in unison.
They had been more than just names. Diego, with his quiet strength and infectious laugh, had a way of making even the darkest days feel survivable. And Fabinho—resolute, loyal, the kind of man who stood like a pillar when others crumbled. Together, they were brothers in arms, not by blood but by bond, by sacrifice, by countless shared battles—both on and off the field.
No one expected their journey to end so suddenly. One moment, they were living, laughing, making plans. The next, the world stood still, and grief wrapped its cold fingers around those who loved them most.
Family, friends, and strangers gathered—drawn by love, respect, and disbelief. Stories flowed as freely as the tears. Diego’s mother clutched a photo of her son, the edges worn from years of holding it close. Fabinho’s daughter, barely old enough to speak his name, sat on her grandmother’s lap, sensing a sorrow she could not yet understand.
The eulogies painted vivid portraits—of moments shared, promises kept, lives deeply lived. We laughed through tears, remembering Diego’s mischief and Fabinho’s quiet wisdom. In the end, it was the silence that spoke loudest, when the coffins were lowered, and the earth reclaimed them.
Life is often filled with sorrow. It does not ask permission before it changes everything. But as we stood together, hands clasped, hearts fractured but united, there was also something else—gratitude. Gratitude for having known them, even if too briefly. Gratitude for the legacy they left behind.
May their souls find eternal peace. And may we carry forward their light, even when the world seems dim.
