had so little to spare, knowing we would never, ever see
the loan repaid.
That next morning, I walked into what would become my favorite sanctuary in the world���the magnificent church at Santa Croce. Within its massive and impressive walls, a ceiling that to my eyes seemed high
enough to touch the sky, were buried many of the most
renowned and revered men of the Renaissance���from
Dante to Galileo to Machiavelli to Rossini. But the tomb
that caught my eye was the first one on the right, just off
the entrance.
The tomb of Michelangelo.
I stared ahead in silence, ignoring the tourists milling
around me trying to secretly snap a series of photos, my
Uncle Neri standing several feet behind, allowing me the
luxury of time.
I don���t know what it was about that morning standing there in front of a sculpted tomb sealing in its grip
the body of a mortal who spent a lifetime doing the work
of an immortal. All I knew at that moment is I had found
both a place in Santa Croce and a man in Michelangelo
that I could embrace and call my own. A place where I
HYLAND
