The Lesson

Dear Francesco,

I woke up this morning to the sound of your bike shoes click-clacking.

For a moment I thought I was dreaming but I wasn’t, I heard a bike and a person moving up and down the street.

Celestino heard this too and moved himself to the front door. Such a familiar sound.

Click-clack and the spokes turning, the signal you were home.

That big smile approaching us all, coming up the drive after a long bike ride.

I’d complain you didn’t wear suncream when you cycled, you’d insist you didn’t need it because of your skin condition.

As I realised this morning that I wasn’t dreaming, it hit me.

Grief hits you.

Out of the blue….

Like a smack on the face you weren’t expecting.

Boom!

A sound we hear, a smile we remember, a song that comes on the radio.

I did what I always do.

I got down on the ground and hugged Celestino.

He put his paw on me, as if to say:

“There, there, mummy, it hit me too.”

Later I went about my day.

I visited designers in the nearby town, I felt content to know such kind people.

I helped a friend with his idea.

I felt happy to have such a good network.

I prayed for a parking space, you delivered it.

I prayed for a siesta, you helped me sleep.

I felt grateful for our new form of connection.

I washed the dishes and in my stillness, in the silence of my tiny apartment, it hit me again.

Because grief hits you.

“How am I doing this, how am I still here without you?”

I thought about my family.

How far away I feel from them at times.

I wondered how they are coping.

I thought about how we humans never really talk about loss.

How many suffer in silence, maybe because it’s easier?

Maybe because we don’t like uncomfortable conversations?

Later I went to our friend’s party.

I prayed you’d help me through it.

He was a good friend to you. To us.

I thought about you a lot.

I couldn’t wait to get home to Celestino.

He reminds me of you.

Vocal, playful, loved by all and with grey colouring that looks a bit like you.

We went for dinner together at a simple place.

The local bar, Pink Lady, I’m glad that I can eat alone, sometimes I even prefer it.

Cele keeps me company anyway.

I ordered your favourite, Piadina, a very thin dough bread typical of Emilia Romgna, with a hint of lard, grilled and filled with cheese, rocket, mayo and ham.

I sipped our friend’s wine, I Pastini, the last project you worked on was for I Pastini.

I remember your frustration.

And your LOVE. ❤️

You loved problem-solving, you loved to get the job done, you loved to love.

It occurs to me now, the greatest lesson you ever taught me was to love. ❤️

Now I love easily.

Now I love deeply.

Now I love without limits.

Thanks to you Francesco. ❤️