Okay, confess, I'm writing this one months after the fact, because it's taken many, many retellings, and a whole lot of late night musings to truly understand the gift given me during my first weekend in Florence, in October 2009.
My travelling chum Helen from Oxford had had meetings in Florence for work (some people get all the dud jobs ;-), so Ants and I hopped the train after work one Friday to go catch up. I'd first met Helen through music open nights, which she attends with gusto, earning her nickname because she doesn't play a note herself, but is brilliantly supportive of her friends. She likes a vino too, so catching up in Tuscany was an exciting prospect.
It had been quite a big day - eating, accompanied by drinking, followed by walking around in awe of Florence's marble-faced, magnificent everything. Chattering, more imbibing, indulging and meandering, gobsmacked. I was rapidly becoming engrossed in the notion that the Medici didn't entirely deserve their reputation of "one of Europe's most ruthless families". For a start, anyone who held power in Italy had to develop a ruthless edge - consider, for example, the Visconti with their meticulously documented slow death, which alternated a day of torture with a day of rest, for forty days and nights, for their worst enemies. Machiavelli's The Prince pales by comparison.
By midafternoon I was in awe of Lorenzo 'Il Magnifico', who perceived and fostered such talents as Leonardo, Raphael, Michaelangelo and many more, who so loved his city and was loved by the people he served (not ruled). If the Renaissance had a pater and patron, it was he.
Exploring the wonders of the Duomo facade, the amazing pietro dura landscapes in the Medici chapel and Michaelangelo's amazing marbles - Dusk and Dawn, Night and Day, along with David, and countless others in the Piazza della signoria, I couldn't help thinking of my favourite champion of the Renaissance, and understood with new eyes why he loved this period so.
So as the night wore on, and H and I drained both our bar fridges of prosecco, talking 19 to the dozen in that way you do, perhaps it was inevitable that I hit one of my spectacular downers, full of tears and that all consuming aching that just leaves emotions awash, and me feeling like a bit of a fraud for kidding people that I've 'rebuilt' a 'life after Mikko' that is robust and balanced and healthy. Like fuck I have, when I'm in that space.
And I love H for her response, delivered carefully and lovingly, after we'd already talked for hours about life, the universe and everything both in it, and no longer in it.
By her own admission, she's never understood depression, and why people can't 'just' sort themselves out - except that, having seen people she loves try and fail, she says she respects that for a depressed person, it's just not that easy.
BUt her pearl of wisdom was this:
"I wish I knew what to say, or do, for you to make it hurt less. From the way you talk about him, he was obviously a remarkable man, and you clearly adored him, and loved the years you shared with him. But what I don't understand is why you let him keep hurting you. How long are you going to keep giving him credit for everything you have done over the past five years?"
I felt like I'd been hit by a thunderbolt. H obviously worried she'd gone too far. But something struck a chord, and made sense, even through the fog of booze and grief. In that moment, though fuzzy intellect barely knew how to process the thought, something in me began to shift, evolve, and see through slightly different eyes... a new way forward.
I don't want losing Mikko to stop hurting. I don't want to forget the bits of him that were brilliant, that shaped me, and I want to keep sharing them with the world because I think the world can continue to be a richer place for him having been in it, even now he is gone.
But I do need to stop him from hurting who I become, my work, my adventures and my marriage to Anthony, which sometimes his self destructiveness and my grief still threaten to do.
If I was quiet the following day, it was easy to blame our hangovers, but in fact I was lost in thought. Much to consider, integrate and grow into. It's been months, and the memory of that moment is fierce and clear, although I haven't always known what to do with this new seed. Fitting really, that I came to this precious spark of knowledge in the city of enlightenment, cradle of the Renaissance...
And to Helen. Bringer of light to my darkest hours.
Thankyou.
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