Death, Grief, & Come What May

Come what may.

It's easy to say when things are easy. It's difficult to live out when every day is a struggle for composure, for normalcy in light of sudden tragedies.

In recent weeks, my husband has declared that it hurts tremendously to shed the skin of who you once were. Shedding this skin not only includes making peace with your childhood self or college self or even the self who occupied the entirety of last year; it also includes internalizing and moving past the deaths of loved ones.

Within the last year I have learned an excruciating amount about myself through such experiences.

As many of you know, I grew up with dogs - never cats. My dad was not terribly fond of them, so we stuck to canines. When I got married, however, I knowingly married a cat person, and without much effort he convinced me I’d enjoy the company of cats if we got them as kittens. So we did. A month after we married, we decided to enlarge our family with two furbabies, Sophie and Emmerich, both barely 8 weeks old as rescues.

They stole my heart from the very first moment these skittish balls of love came to rest on me of their own volition. I had no idea I had such a capacity to love cats so much, and I’m so happy Sophie and Emmerich were the ones who showed me. They made me a catmom for the first time in my life.

Then, a year later, we had to say goodbye to Sophie because her kidneys were failing. It turns out lily poisoning is fatal if not caught early enough. On August 28, 2018 I was reminded for the first time in ten years how much it hurts to lose someone you love.

About a year later, I was due for a painful reminder again.

Friday morning July 19, 2019 I cuddled with Emmerich on the couch while I drank my coffee, a ritual we’d established over recent months. I noticed he was breathing heavily but otherwise totally lovey and normal. Later that morning, Joseph took him in to get checked out. We thought it might be asthma or something similarly minor. Five hours later, we were taking him home in a box, taped closed.

Feline leukemia is a tricky little virus that manifests without much warning and with a smorgasbord of potential symptoms. Emmerich had been carrying the virus in his bone marrow and it chose to present itself and start shutting his body down. There was nothing we could have done and nothing we could do except hold him and tell him how much we loved being part of his life while the vet put him to sleep.

The suddenness and utter surprise of his death are what gutted me the worst; I realized with painful clarity over the following week that looking into the face of an old, well-lived pet is very, very different from having to unexpectedly put down an otherwise healthy two-year-old catbaby. You look at the latter and wistfully imagine a long life with them; you look at the former and experience a twinge of reality that says the possibility of them dying of old age increases each day. How could I look at Emmerich like that? His death due to any reason seemed so far off as to be intangible. I can and have looked at my 12-year-old dog, Maxx, like that though, ever since I moved out.

I try to visit my parents where Maxx lives once a month or so. I live two hours and twenty minutes away now - that’s not close but it’s also not far. But in the last year, the fruits of my maturity have come to light in how I’ve regarded Maxx every time I show up and he’s still there, howling his greeting and bounding up to give me kisses: I look at him very deliberately and think “this could be the last time I see him.” It is a bit painful and uncomfortable, staring the inevitability of death right in the eyes, but it provides a sturdy jumping off point for our subsequent interactions. They feel so much more meaningful to me and I practice a present mindfulness, appreciating the silkiness of his coat as I pet him, the sound of his baying as he launches out the front door after a crow. This could be the last time, I think, smiling a bit sadly while Maxx prances around the yard, sniffing for deer poop. So let me be here with him while I can.

The second chapter of my grief opened with the death of young Emmerich and continued in the last couple of weeks as a lesson on the many shapes and sizes grief comes in. It can come on suddenly and without fanfare much like a tsunami, and it can also arrive somewhat slow and steadily, but still end in a jolt.

Death, even when totally expected, still manages to strike deep and quick into the humanity of those left behind.

Chapter three of my grief opened suddenly barely two weeks after Emmerich’s death. My dog Maxx died on Sunday, August 4th of 2019.

Loss, of this rapid-fire nature, certainly makes it hard to breathe.

I remember taking Maxx out for an evening potty break when he was about a year old. My family were in the final stages of readying to uproot our lives and move to Peru, but we were uncertain whether Maxx could accompany us. On that walk, I kneeled in the leaves next to him and took him into my arms, crying into his silky coat. I wanted so badly for him to come with us; imagining this next chapter without him felt hollow and dull, so much so that the image alone brought me to tears next to this clueless, happily wagging animal in the trees behind our house in Virginia.

Thankfully his goofy butt was able to fly over with us and my life during that period of isolation and soul searching was the slightest bit sweeter because of his presence.

It’s amazing how meaningful these animals are, even though they can’t talk to you and don’t see the world like you do and can’t even begin to comprehend their own mortality. Maxx was alive for exactly half my lifetime. That’s plenty long enough to leave a lasting, profound, stinky paw print on my heart. He was my buddy, great for cuddling and singing but not so great for fetching. I will miss him dearly, but I rest in knowing he lived a full, well-traveled life with a loving family, and now he’s enjoying a vast field full of crows to chase, popcorn to munch on, and all the butter wrappers to lick clean whenever he wants. No pain. No tears. No strangers. Just love.

It’s easy to feel sad for myself in the wake of these deaths. One terribly young, the other approaching old; one like a child, the other more of a little brother; both unexpected in their own ways but woven of different hurts. And I have every right to fall to pieces at seeing a photo or talking about them while the wounds are still freshly glistening. But you know what is also true at the exact same time? I can, and should, keep moving forward. If I’m truly living out the Come What May permanently inked on my body for all to see, I can certainly dig deep into this grief - but that doesn’t excuse me from my habits and goals. I still need to take care of and stay true to myself and my family. Both grief and unrelated meaningful pursuits can happen simultaneously. And they will.

Some days it hurts to keep going, but each day I’m able to manage the weight a little better. For the first week after Emmerich’s death, coming home from work sent me into hysterics because of how he used to greet me after a long day. Now I can pat the arm of the couch where he would perch and await scratches and smile fondly at the memory, thankful I even have the capacity to remember such things. And it will be the same with Maxx. If I don’t keep moving forward, the grief will turn into quicksand and consume me. I have to keep getting up at 6. I can cry while I drink my coffee because the weight of how much I miss them hits me - that’s acceptable. But when I dry my eyes, it’s time to hit the gym and throw around some weight. Then I hoist up that backpack of grief and go to work. So far I haven’t missed a single day. Gotta keep moving. Then I come home and work on my book or clean the house or make dinner. Do my nighttime routine, go to bed, and do it all again tomorrow. The backpack won’t be quite as heavy then.

Death sucks. Grief hurts. Understanding our own mortality and the mortality of others sets us apart from other creatures. It is a heavy burden to bear, and it will happen to all of us. Come What May, you gotta keep moving. It’s the only way to stay alive.

That doesn’t mean I won’t miss these precious babies of mine like hell.

In memory of:

Sophie (1yo) ~ August 28, 2018

Emmerich (2yo) ~ July 19, 2019

Maxx (12yo) ~ August 4, 2019

Vicki's Guide to Taking Better Selfies

Vicki’s Guide to Taking Better Selfies

            So you wanna take good selfies, eh? Well you’ve come to the right place. Within this post you will find tips and tricks that I regularly follow when taking my own selfies. Some may be new, others may be obvious; regardless, I feel some guidelines need to be thrown down about this. Selfies have exploded as a medium of expression on the Internet without requiring a professional photoshoot or even another human being to snap the picture. Front-facing cameras on our phones and mirrors in our bedrooms make it incredibly easy to take pictures of ourselves. The following six tips are here to guide you on your personal selfie journey (with creepy/goofy photos of my own to assist comprehension). Shall we begin?
            *Note: clicking on the pictures will make them bigger! I don't know why you'd want to do that, but just so you know.

1.    Good Lighting

X  ~  Too much front light = bad. Your face gets washed out and it looks flat. Or you could be like me, and look like you have no mouth.

X  ~  Too much back light = also bad. There’s an excess of shadows and no feature definition. And you just can't see your face.

O  ~  You want just enough side light to highlight and define your features. Find the angle that works for you

2.    Snap Angle is Key

X   ~  No emo MySpace angled photos. Quit.

X   ~  Want followers to play “how many chins do you have?” Stop.

O   ~  You may find another angle that works better for you, but I prefer to hold the camera at eyelevel and tilt and angle my head accordingly. Either that, or slightly elevating the camera also works, but don’t go too crazy (refer to the first bullet point). Angled more from the above tends to create a slimming effect.

3.    Look At Me When I’m Talking to You

X  ~  Don’t look at the screen of your phone where your face is. This close of a picture makes it obvious you're not looking at the camera.

X  ~  Also don't look at yourself in the mirror.

O  ~  Whether taking a picture with the front or back camera on your phone, look directly into the lens. This creates the effect that you’re looking at the person viewing your photo later, and creates more of a connection.*

*If you’re deliberately trying to look away and that’s the aim of the photo, that’s fine – totally acceptable. Just don’t look at your phone screen.

4.    Face Muscles

X  ~  Now that we’ve talked about eyes, let’s cover the rest of the face. The expression you make is up to you, and of course it’s okay to be goofy if that’s your aim. But NO DUCKFACE EVER. Go hangout at the duck pond where you belong if you’re going to do that crap.

O  ~  Whatever you decide to do, be relaxed, and as natural as possible. Obviously different expressions will vary with this one; just don’t force it too much.

5.    Background

X  ~  Before taking a selfie, consider your surroundings. Is your bedroom dirty? Are there toilets reflected in the mirror? Bras and/or underwear hanging off gaping dresser drawers? All of these things are terribly distracting, as well as way too much information.

                                             Don't be that person.

O  ~  If your face/body don’t take up most of the framed shot, either clean up your room first or choose a better background. Something as neutral and uncluttered as possible is ideal, because, after all, we want to see you, not the mound of laundry you have yet to tackle.

6.    Censorship

X  ~  Lastly, be wise about the types of photos you post on the Internet. Suggestive and/or vulgar pics have no place on the world wide web, for it is a vast, highly accessible place.

O  ~  Be classy, guys and gals. When taking a selfie, think of why you’re taking it and all of the people who might see it (whether you know it or not). Please be wise in dividing public and private affairs. There’s no real need to “show off” cleavage, tummies, or muscles to the public like that. Showing more skin may get you more likes on Facebook, but that should not be your primary source of measuring your self-worth. You’re a beautiful human, and as God’s creation you need not rate yourself on likes or comments. You belong to Him – you’ll find no greater source of self-worth than that.

Just a couple last comments: Keep in mind that vanity is not attractive. Keep the selfies posted to the Internet to a minimum.

And, as always, there tend to be exceptions to every rule. Use these tips as guidelines and figure out what works for you. Be creative!

Now go take a great selfie!

High-speed Trains & High-speed Days

First and foremost, I apologize for the lateness of this post. Almost a whole week has gone by since I traveled to Florence! This past week was long and tiring, mainly due to the fact that it was the last week of classes and us students are therefore preparing for finals in the coming days. I’m sure it also felt long because my day in Florence was packed with so much stuff, it in itself seemed to last a couple days.

Well, with the apology over, let’s get this post started, shall we?

Florence is southeast from Milan, about 185 miles away (which is a 3 hour and 17 minute journey by car) and it only took me 2 hours via the “Alta Velocità” train I rode.

My train got in around 11AM and the station is conveniently located very close to a church, which I used as my landmark to get back later. This church is called Santa Maria Novella. (Warning: there are several churches in this area with “santa maria” in them, so just bear with me – it does get confusing.)

I didn’t venture inside this one because I wanted to make sure I spent enough time at the famous Florence Duomo (the one with Brunelleschi’s dome), so I snapped a few pictures of Novella’s lovely face and promptly moved on.

Armed with screenshots of maps and my bettering map skills, I really began my trek through Florence. The next place of note on my list to hit on the way to the Duomo was Basilica San Lorenzo. It’s got a pretty dome, but kind of an ugly face. At least the history of it is pretty neat.

(Soon, Duomo. Soon. I see you peekin'.)

Following the basilica, I headed to the Duomo, whose full name is Santa Maria del Fiore, though it’s more popularly known as the Florence Duomo. I had been informed weeks ago of the magnificence of the cathedral and the dome by some family friends (thanks Stinar’s ;) ) and after doing some research of my own, it became clear very quickly what my main mission in Florence would be – to explore this beauty inside and out, from above and below.

So I did.

Once she came into full view, I had to stand back and admire her. How could I not?

I then went and waited in line for about half an hour for an all-inclusive ticket that only cost me 10 euro. It was well worth it. And there was a neat sketch someone had done while they waited in line, too.

I proceeded to seek out the line of people awaiting entrance to the dome, which was fortunately simple, though unfortunately long. I waited another hour before I was granted entrance. The excitement of actually being there and getting the chance to see the dome fueled my positive mood, so the waiting pace was decent and I knew it would be worth it.

The hike to the top of the dome is not for the claustrophobic or the weak-hearted, let me just say that right now. There were many stone hallways that got to be maybe one and a half people wide, as well as spiral stone staircases and hundreds of steep steps. Four hundred and sixty three of them, in fact. (Don’t forget to factor in going up AND down!)

Aside from kicking my lungs into overdrive and working my knees like I swear I’ve never done before, the only unpleasant thing was that the narrow hallways stunk so wretchedly of BO, I had to breathe through the fabric of my jacket sleeve. All of these things were swept to the background of my mind very quickly, however, the closer and closer I got to the top.

There is a walkway that rims the inside of the dome and connects one staircase to another, which allowed my lungs to suck in some fresher air as well as get a closer look at the frescoes painted on the inner dome. They were done somewhere between 1572 and 1579 by Giorgio Vasari and Frederico Zuccari. It’s hard to see in any of my pictures (dim cathedral lighting), but the entire thing depicts the Last Judgment. The figures in the paintings are massive and done with exquisite detail. “Impressive” doesn’t even cover it.

After a brief rest while admiring the frescoes, it was onward and upward. More crazy steep stairs!

Oh but the view at the top was phenomenal.

(I’ll be in that bell tower soon too!)

The trek down from the dome was much easier because it was pretty much just controlled falling. My feet were grumbling, but I couldn’t care less. And anyway, there was still so much to see!

I got in the line meant for the cathedral so I could poke my head in and see what the inside of the dome (and church) was like. The Florence Duomo is one of the top four largest Duomos in Italy (the Milan Duomo being one of those four as well), so I figured it would be big and beautiful. The line went much faster than the dome, and I got up right to the front where there were security guards of sorts. One of them eyed me up and down, caught my attention and told me “no shorts” before pointing me away.

What.

I couldn’t believe it. It was upper-70s out and my shorts weren’t that short. I stiffly walked off a little ways away and stood in disbelief mixed with tiny twitches of frustration. There was no way I traveled that far just to be turned away from seeing the marvelousness of the cathedral because of my shorts. I would get in, oh one way or another.

I stood for ten minutes in front of the church under the guise of admiring the façade, when really the gears were turning in my head and schemes were being schemed. I was determined to strut into that cathedral, someway somehow.

The final idea I rested on was to wrap my long jacket around my legs like a skirt, then use my messenger bag to cover the slit of space where the jacket couldn’t reach. Like so:

Abra cadabra, alakazam! I have a skirt, but it’s all a sham!

I got into the cathedral without a fuss. (:

The cathedral was indeed huge and gorgeous. I was able to get a better look at the frescoes under the dome, too, which was nice. Thankfully the dimness didn’t make all my pictures look like junk.

After traipsing around, staring at the ceiling for most of the time, I chose to go down into a basement sort of area under the church where they had original flooring and other very old artifacts.

Following that, I decided to power through the hike up to the top of the bell tower (Giotto’s Campanile) mentioned (and seen) earlier. (For you AC gamers, this campanile as well as the church can be found in ACII!) This tower has 414 stairs and no lift. I was huffing and puffing at the top again, though I easily paid it no mind once I saw the view. (This must be what Ezio felt like.)

 

(If you look closely you can see people on the top of the dome. They look so itty bitty, it provides a good way to gauge just how massive this dome really is.)

Gorgeous. So gorgeous.

I was so worn out by the fall down, though already thoroughly satisfied with what portion of Florence I had seen. I spent four and a half hours alone on the Duomo and the things associated with it. Was that too much? Not at all. Was it worth going up and down nearly 900 stairs? Heck yes.

The Duomo was easily the highlight of my Florence trip. I was intoxicated by it in all its marvelous glory. It could have started pouring and my mood wouldn’t have shone any less.

There were still a few sights left to see before I headed back to the train station, so I dragged my weary feet in the general direction of Piazza di Signoria, where a replica of the David stands alongside many other statues. I saw Palazzo Vecchio, too, which is located in the same piazza. It was pretty neat, but really nothing could compare to the Duomo.

I took just a few minutes to wander inside Palazzo Vecchio’s courtyard before deciding to walk to a famous bridge nearby, called Ponte Vecchio. The bridge itself was quite a sight, but the view from the bridge was also beautiful. I love the warm colors that are sprinkled all over Italy in the way the Italians paint their houses.

 

The Chiesa di Santa Maria del Carmine was up next on my list, so I wandered there. It was a more secluded area, much more off the tourist-beaten path, which was nice. I’d had my fair share of being bumped against by strangers in dimly lit hallways. She’s got a bit of an ugly face, but on the inside she’s beautiful.

Very close by was the Basilica di Santa Maria del Santo Spirito, which looks much different than the previous church. I was only able to snap a few pictures of the outside since tours through the inside were closed up for the day, but I wasn’t dismayed by this. To come and see these churches at all was a great experience.

One last church. This one was called Basilica di Santa Croce, and looks very similar to Santa Maria Novella, the first church I saw. She’s a bit of a stiff looking structure, but still very pretty.

My legs and feet determined that I was done for the day, regardless of whether I had any other sights to see. Thankfully I did not, so I followed the signs as well as my own maps and wove my slumping way through the streets to the train station. I passed by the Duomo one last time and said my goodbyes.

I wandered through a street full of shops and passed one that was playing “That Don’t Impress Me Much” by Shania Twain. I couldn’t not smile. Who expects to go to Florence and hear Shania Twain? Certainly not me. It’s comical because Shania Twain’s music was very prominent throughout my childhood, so the songs hold more meaning for me than someone just passing by. It’s also funny because the entire day in Florence I had been impressed by everything. Well played, shop owners, well played.

I arrived at the train station (note: I didn't get lost the entire day!) with a good bit of time to spare, so I sniffed out a place to sit and collapsed onto it. Though I was tired and achy out of my mind, I was happy. The day took quite a bit out of me physically, but mentally it was reinvigorating. It made the last two weeks of my time in Italy seem like an even bigger piece of cake to take on.

My day wasn’t over yet, however. When I got on the train, I happened to sit next to an Italian who knew some English and happened to be the founder of a design company based in Milan that makes furniture. (http://nabladesign.it/#/our-team/ He’s the first one, Giordano.) He saw me flipping through my Florence pictures on my phone and commented on how beautiful they were, in Italian, of course. He quickly found out that I was American, and we ended up having a conversation using my broken Italian and his English for the duration of the ride. It was quite unexpected, to say the least, but very amusing.

Once we got to the station, we both determined we were using the metro to get home, and it was late and dark outside (about 10-11PM), so he made sure to walk me to the metro entrance, saying on the way there that he wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving me by myself so late at night due to the nature of the station. That was something I hadn’t thought of when I booked the trip, honestly, but I’m really glad I was able to find a kind soul to help me out in that small way.

He told me to send him some of my pictures because he could possibly use them in his 3D models of the furniture he designs, and we parted with that. I dragged myself through the metro and down the street to my apartment, where I promptly fell in a heap onto my bed.

It had been a long, long day, but every second had been worth it.

Now, almost a week later, I only have six days left in Milan. It’s seriously ridiculous, but I’m ready for it. It’s been an amazing three months, but it will be so nice to be back in familiarity. All that stands between me and that plane ride home are finals. Woo!

This will most likely be my last Italy-related post, though it’s possible I’ll write about my trip home. Depends on how interesting it is. Well, in any case, thank you to those of you who have followed my trip via this blog – I hope I have provided you with some entertainment! It's been quite a ride!

Till next time,

V xoxo