The Roof of the Duomo

Heaven. It is easy to see how people could believe in God, after seeing the view from the roof of the Duomo, situated in Milan’s city center. As I paid my 4 Euro to enter the small granite stairs, my heart fluttered with excitement. I had been waiting for this moment since Callie had emailed me a New York Times article on seven must dos in the city.

The winding stairs with small rectangular windows showed us a glimpse of what was in store for us. Once on the roof the blue sky shown and the intricate stone details popped out as if each were having individual conversations with me. I wasn’t really sure what pictures to take, or where to focus. My eyes just scanned the stone sculptures, amazed at the stories they told. My mind bounced, each stone face and personality made me contemplate my own life and the path I was choosing to walk. I thought of angels, of friends, of family, of unborn children. I felt as if I was Alice in Wonderland, or the smallest, tiniest ant, looking up at man’s creative majesty. It wasn’t until my eyes met the last open staircase, which led visitors to the very top of the Duomo, that I remembered I was deathly afraid of heights. So as our group wound their way upward, I sat and decided to just take some time to be alone with my thoughts. Sitting on the slanted stone roof, staring at the beautiful stonework in front of me, my mind became silent and I found myself just listening. Love was everywhere. The Mother and child. The Roman men solemnly standing on the top of each spire, protecting our beautiful city. The small corner with a monk praying. His stone eyes. His longing face. What was he praying for? Forgiveness? Grace? Isn’t that what we all are praying for?

When my phone rang, I was suddenly drawn back to all the tourists who were mingling down the walkway. Some, there for contemplation, not wanting to speak with anyone. Some, clearly there because it was named a must see in Michelin’s guide to Milan. I was surprised and happy to hear my Mom’s voice on the other end. Even more happy when I found out my Dad was home too. It had been awhile since I had heard his voice and even the beauty of the Duomo would not distract me, from a conversation with my Papa. But, the connection, like it is so often, was bad. Sadly, the talk with my Dad would have to wait, until I got home to my apartment.