I thought I was taking the boys to Italy as a decadent college tour to show them—see, you could study art in Paris or design in Milan and blow away the competition in New York for only $100 a quarter, but it turns out—I went there to grieve. In Milan, Eliot and I were waiting in Gucci while they searched for a pair of Adidas/Gucci sneakers. Eliot tapped away on his phone while I looked at scarves. Grey on dark grey, I thought, “those are dad’s colors,” classic tan and brown, “...and that’s mom.” I acknowledged it, no big deal, and emotionlessly turned to Eliot, “Wanna head over to Fendi?” Then we went up to Lake Como and stayed in a small town which felt like an Italian Atwood Lake (Ohio ref.). Every lush lawn, little stream, and humble campground reminded me of growing up in Ohio, back when everyone was alive, flush with two sets of grandparents. It was either the sound of dirt bikes or the smell of cut grass that sent me over the edge, but once the tears started, there was no going back—I cried all night. I finally stopped fighting it and accepted that I am Catholic by culture. And I didn’t realize how Catholic I was until dad’s funeral. My sister, Rachel, was ok having the service at the funeral home, but I instinctively insisted on having it at the church. Out of nowhere, for this agnostic rocker, having dad’s funeral at the church was super-important to me. Thus, in that Ohio-like lake-side Italian getaway, I finally had time to reflect, appreciate, and breathe through the grief I’d held at bay since November. Every hour on the hour, the church bell rang, and I was awash with love for my dad, mom, and the whole family. I never thought I’d spend the nights of my decadent vacation crying in my cocktails. But I’m happy that I did because it showed me how much love I’ve acquired, retained, and have to share. Or maybe it’s because I’m fancy that I grieve in fancy places. After all, nine months after mom died, I balled my eyes out in the Princeton art gallery, repeating, “I want a do-over.“ Any way you slice it, I’ve learned that I’m not good at relaxing. For me, it’s all high-end retail, tactical speed boats, and emotional work.