Venice with my Nieces

We are in Venice now. I bought the tickets for Anne and the girls last May, when I intended to give them a vacation and to give myself an excuse to take a break from the brutal schedule I'd self-imposed through my support to the Dutch Navy mission and to the African assessment teams. There was no way to know then how different my life would be when the date rolled around.
As of Friday, I have lost my job with a company whose only condition for staying on was that I confess to a lie. I have been transferred out of my post in Italy, and forced to stop my programs because the same Dutch Intel folks at MIVD who invaded my privacy three years ago this week invented the lie to cover up their own misdeeds, and because the man I once loved more than my soul, turned on me to save himself.
These are the facts of the situation. But they do not comprise the emotional reality of my experience now.
I am so much more at peace now than I was two years ago when I visited Venice for the first time. Then, I was in a job I loved serving people I loved, and living in a place I loved - but this was not enough to lift me out of hell. Then, I was in agony, separated from Sjors and praying that he would live up to the promises he had made, believing that the fault for our separation was with me: because I had not believed in him enough, not trusted him enough, and because the depression spawned by his actions had nearly subsumed me.
Now, there is some peace in my soul: a self-knowledge and a sense that, in spite of the pain, there is something bigger which might give meaning to this life which seems so devoid of joy.

Rachel and Chrissy are in love with Venice and I am giving it to them, and this is a wonderful thing. I arrived 4 hours before their flight so I was able to get to the hotel and check in before they arrived. I took the ferry and bus back to Marco Polo Airport and collected them. All three had been trying to learn Italian, and it was so fun to listen to their words.
They rode on the back of the ferry in the dark as we wended our way to the hotel near the Acadamia. We offloaded their gear and I took them on a midnight walk to San Marco's where Rachel stood reverentially at a place she had longed for, and Chrissy danced around and spun in one of the pink polka-dot ponchos Anne had purchased for all of them (I traded my tech-raincoat with Rachel on account of the extreme mortification she felt, visiting this holy-of-holies in an enormous plastic tent).

It was early-up this morning, and a moment of concern on my part when I whacked my head hard on the under-side of the staircase and gave myself a mild concussion. The goose-egg wasn't too troubling, but my pupils dilated differently and I had trouble seeing. I worried that my situational-awareness and problem-solving might be compromised. Fortunately, all seemed to be well and the headache diminished throughout the day, and the eyesight improved.
We visited the Basilica of San Marco, and walked along the waterfront, finding trinkets and souveneirs. We took a ferry to Murano and perused the glass-shops. And we ate pizza at a restaurant there.
We found the church where Eve and I attended midnight mass two Christmases ago: San Pietro Martire.  This was a strange experience. I usually don't like churches, but we lingered in this one, each exploring our separate ways. The walls were plaster, painted with frescos, and the ceiling was dark wooden timbers. Chrissy lit a candle, and I spotted Rachel kneeling at an altar.
I have, on occasions, prayed in churches. My last prayer was in May when I visited the Oude Kirk in Amsterdam after seeing Sjors. Then, I prayed for him. Today, I prayed for myself.
I can't seem to ask for the things I long for most. It is still too tender. There is too much pain to look at directly. But if there is a god, and if that god is personal: knows me and loves me, then god is aware of the magnitude and depth of the pain and, today, I felt able to hand it over.