Last day at Sant ’anna, I finally went into the chapel. I didn’t feel the barrier I had felt before. I took rubbings in the confessional booths. The chapel is so unique. The marble is faux painted, the cherubs have a rococo feel, and the statues of Mary and Jesus have glass doll eyes. Last night we ate dinner in the fresco room. It was here I realized the “heaviness” or “haunting” some of us have felt, is really just memory.

Before we left for Italy, I had predicted that the churches might bring up negative feelings. But I have only felt this at the monastery. I didn’t feel it in the big basilicas. I think it’s because the monastery is feeling more tangible, humble, relatable. Sitting in the fresco room reminded me of my old friends’ house, and her family. I was rushed with memories of the photos they showed me of their pilgrimage to the Vatican, and the paintings of the last supper scattered on their walls. It’s a haunting of the personal religious past, the fear and shame that come with it. Jesus on the wall.