It was all going too well, Laura and I had made it to Sant'Agnello, posh inter-railed from Naples to Florence and then wearily taken the train from Florence back down to Rome.
Sant'Agnello was just as when we'd been before, with its main street roaring with mopeds and 3 wheeled trucks from dawn til dusk. This time we stayed in an Airbnb which made the trip all the more exciting. An unfortunate incident on our first evening involving a waiter inviting us for a drink meant we couldn't return to Ciao Toto ever again. But it was perfect. With the exception of the buses. But more about them another time.
Florence was a dream, perfectly proportioned with picturesque hills, fertile vineyards rolling into the horizon. We hired bikes, we drank wine, we ate pasta, we found a food market. A dream. Honestly. It was just a dream.
Which brings me to Rome. After such a relaxing time in Sant'Agnello and an oh too brief holiday romance with Chianti Classico, Rome had a lot to live up to. The week before we went away, I suddenly realised that we hadn't yet booked tickets to the Vatican Museums. Now this was a major problem; the Vatican Museums include the Sistine Chapel and that was the one place in Rome I was desperate to see. Thankfully Laura managed to get tickets for 7:30am on the Monday morning which would give us early breakfast and entry to the museum. I say thankfully; I was not thankful about getting up at 6.30am during my holiday.
So, on the Monday morning at 7am, make-up free and grumpy we elbowed our way to the front of the already winding queue to the museums. So far so good. After downing an "interesting" breakfast mainly comprised of pancakes and coffee, we decided to brave the crowds.
So we walked. And we walked. And we walked. And I hobbled. The interior of the museums are stunning, it feels like being in a French châteaux; surrounded by history and grandeur. Frescos covering every wall; a story in every painting. However, after well over a week of Italy, we were both wearying and ready to see what we went to Rome for; the Sistine Chapel.
The Sistene Chapel is surprisingly difficult to find, despite being very well sign posted. However, you know you're almost there when the slow moving crowd almost stops and everyone starts looking up.
And that, dear reader, is where it all went wrong. On reflection, it seems obvious that the Sistine Chapel will not entertain flames, what with it being a priceless work of art. However, I was somewhat disappointed to discover that it just wasn't possible to light a candle in the Sistine Chapel.
So I moved on to bigger and better things; St Peter's Basilica. I don't have the words for how splendid and stunning St Peter's Basilica is. You have to see it to quite understand just how amazing it is. The columns stretch for miles, the ceiling may as well be in heaven and all around is marble and beauty. There was one thing missing, however. Candles.
So, the night before we went home, my sister and I ended up in a little chapel by the Trevi Fountain, lighting a candle for Maurissa. In some ways it was nicer than being in the Sistine Chapel, it was quiet and away from the heaving crowds. There was an air of reverance and a beautiful dusk hung over the altar; you had to strain to see the haloed candles. The Priest was quietly closing the doors as we left, the setting sun catching on the fountain. A peaceful moment which is difficult to articulate.
Every so often someone will ask me why I insist on lighting candles in every church I visit. I've lit them in Sainte Chapel, St Paul's Cathedral, St Andrew's Duomo in Amalfi, so many more.
Why?
Remembrance. Respect. Regret.
It's hard to pinpoint exactly why, I can't tell you what I think it will achieve. I don't believe it's magic or that it will somehow bring her back. I don't believe she needs my offering to get her into heaven; she went there long ago. Perhaps I don't do it for her at all; perhaps it is something intensely selfish. A need to stare death in the face and acknowledge what could have been.
I can't tell you. But I don't think it's that.
But what I can tell you is that when I light a candle for her I pause for a moment and I remember a friend I lost 5 years ago. I remember the girl who had us all in stitches as she recounted her irreverent tales of visiting Lourdes.
I pay my respects when I light each candle. I think of where she would be now and how well she lived for the short time she was here.
I regret. I don't need to light a candle to regret. I miss her; I wish we could have one more conversation. That I'd visited her one more time. My regret isn't just for her, but for so many.
I can't undo anything that is done. I can't bring her back. But I can remember her and I can carry her with me wherever I go.
I think of her, therefore she was.
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