Two days after Howard’s death I flew off to Europe for two weeks. Without him telling me over and over I had to go no matter what I might not have. In some ways it was very good for me. But it also delayed grieving in part. (Pictures of the trip: https://scott-d.com/europe-trip-2022/)

I cried.

Many times.

I cried because I missed him.

I cried when I saw something I would normally share with him. Many times those were inside jokes only he would get based on our previous trips.

La plaza de la Vila de Gràcia

And to be perfectly honest there were times I thought: he’d hate this. I sat in a plaza in the Gracia neighborhood of Barcelona for 2.5 hours to have a couple of beers and a small snack. I needed a break from the maddening tourist crowds after spending 3 days immersed in the madness. He wouldn’t have lasted that long just sitting around. It also brought the chance to have my “small world” moment of the trip.

Two women were seated next to me and got to chatting. As we figured out we had friends in common. In two different circles of friends. 

I chose the cafe/restaurant by who had the cutest waiter. Shallow reason, but he ended up being a delight. He didn’t speak English much, so we stuck to Spanish. He was bored and spent a good long time chatting with three of us. He explained that his boss is gay and owns several bars/restaurants in Barcelona and Sitges. It seems he was a bit desperate for a job when this boss gave him a chance. It changed him. He admitted to being homophobic before, but this man was so nice to him and over time after meeting more and more gay people he completely changed his mind. 

The day before I visited La Sagrada Familia. When I had been there last the nave, the main part of the basilica, didn’t have a roof. There were no elevators to take you up to the top of the spires. I walked up. 

This time I booked a “skip the line” tour. There were still lines. The tour guide wasn’t very good either. After our tour and trip up the elevator of one of the spires and walking back down I went and sat up at the front of the nave that is roped off for quiet contemplation. I lost it. It was the hardest cry I’d had yet. I was heaving and sobbing and then there was a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and a woman asked me to take her picture. My tear stained bitch face scared her off without a word. Suddenly it was kind of funny. And I couldn’t text him to tell him.

That day also, I was walking on the Ramblas and an older gentleman came walking my direction and he had a very young woman on his arm who had the most enormous breasts. I immediately thought of our trip to Italy in 1995. On our last day in Rome, near the Roman Steps we encountered this same situation and I took a picture. I couldn’t text him. 

There were many more of those occasions. They still happen today.