Tag: love

creativity

Saying goodbye to my dog, Phineas, the greatest love of my life

Christa Avampato

Friends, I have been away from this blog for over two weeks because of grief.

Phineas crossed over in my arms at 3:30am on Sunday, January 28, 2024. I went to dinner on Saturday the 27th and Phin was sound asleep in his new bed when I left. He had a good day, visited with friends Marita and Anthony, ate well, went outside, and was even walking better than he had been. When I got home, Phinny was collapsed on the floor and unable to stand. I ran him to the ER at 11:30pm. The vet felt he may have had a seizure, that his kidney disease had taken a turn for the worse, or his back legs had completely given out as a side effect to the prednisone he’s been taking for his chronic pancreatitis.

He completely fell asleep in my arms at the ER and never stirred again, not even when we placed the euthanasia catheter. I held him for hours. He was telling me it was time. Once the shot was administered, he took 3 big breaths and then was gone. He was at peace, and the last thing he knew on this plane was my heartbeat and me holding him. The cry I let out was the loudest and most guttural I’ve ever made.

This is the last photo I took of Phin just before I left for dinner on what would be the last night of his life. I have a tremendous amount of guilt that I went out that night. If I’d known what would happen, I never would have gone to dinner. The other two are me holding him in the ER shortly before he crossed over.

Phineas, I love you more than life itself and my heart is shattered missing you. I have no idea how I’ll get through this grief and life without you. You’ll always be the greatest love of my life.

Thank you to everyone who has loved and cared for us through all of our 13 1/2 years together. We’re so grateful.

I am feeling my way through. This grief is the worst I’ve ever felt. I couldn’t sleep for 36 hours. I sobbed so much my eyes were purple and swollen. My friend, Ashley, who loved and adored Phinny came over with bagels, chocolate, a prayer candle, tissues, fruit salad, and her dog, Cricket, who was one of Phinny’s best friends.

The day after Phinny passed, Ashley told me the constellation Canis minor (“the smaller dog”) was rising in the sky with Orion and Canis major. It’s no coincidence that it looks like a celestial Phinny. I’m absolutely getting this tattoo in his honor. Canis minor and Canis major are Orion the Hunter’s dogs. In mythology, the gods placed Canis minor at the banks of the river of the Milky Way so the dog would never be thirsty. Fresh water forever for Phin!

https://www.astronomytrek.com/star-constellations-canis-minor-the-smaller-dog/

Nursing my broken heart, I left my apartment after two days for the first time since Phinny’s passing. I went to dinner with my friend Vicki. I was dreading returning home and Phin not being there to greet me. This gorgeous vase of flowers was waiting for me from Chewy, the pet supply company. I contacted them to thank them for all of the great service they’ve provided to us and to cancel any autoships and reminders that were set up for Phinny’s account. Sarah, the team member I chatted with, was so lovely, kind, and compassionate. I never expected anything like this. Sarah and Chewy made one of the worst days of my life a little brighter.

Sarah and Chewy exemplify heart-centered leadership, and concern for customers. This is how you run a business. I already loved them. Now I’m a customer and fan for life. Other companies could learn a lot from them.

I went to dinner with my friend Tara at Grey Dog, one of my favorite New York City spots. I went into the restroom and there was this dachshund print by Stephen Huneck. When I looked over at it, I swear to you I heard Phin say, “Hi Mom!”

Print at Grey Dog

Tara bought me a set of pens & this lovely notebook with Phineas embossed on it. She got it so I could carry it with me and write down any thought about Phin that pops into my mind.

The little prince is home now. I picked up Phinny’s ashes at Blue Pearl. A triumvirate of strong, compassionate, loving women working at the hospital that night helped me make the impossible choice to release Phineas’s spirit from his riddled physical body and usher him into the next realm. I will never forget their kindness. This was the most humane and loving choice for him, and a pain-filled choice for me.

I made an ofrenda for him in my apartment. He guards the door, as he always did in life, surrounded by a portrait of him painted by Ashley with the prayer candle she brought over the day he passed, his paw prints, tuft of fur, his sweaters, collar, harness, and water bowl that I never washed after he passed, treats and a piece of his kibble, toys he loved, his hair brush with his hair still in it, dried flowers from his Chewy bouquet, and a photo he had taken at his doggie daycare.

Many years from now, when I pass and am completely reunited with Phin, our ashes will be mixed together, and we’ll become a tree. For now, I’ll find him in everything everywhere all at once. His spirit is always next to me. Whenever I want to be close to him, I go to his ofrenda and talk to him. I say good morning and good night to him every day.

Phin has been showing up all over my dreams already! He showed up in a dream of mine less than a week after he passed. He was in the living room, guarding the door, just as he always did in life. He was sitting close to his ofrenda. I think he likes that spot. I said, “Phinny!” and he turned around and looked at me over his shoulder. I was so sad because the dream was so short but my friend Amy explained that short clear dreams are visitations, and that made me feel better.

I had another dream that he sent me two new rescue dachshunds. It was mayhem in my dream with them running all over the place, and it was the happiest I’ve been since his passing.

In that strange state between being asleep and awake, I had a flash of me walking across a pink bridge with a red stripe down the middle that looked like Central Park’s bridges, which we loved going across many times over the years. Snow behind us, spring ahead. I was carrying Phinny and he was asleep the way he was in the ER 2 weeks ago. I got to the other end of the bridge. I gave him a kiss between his sleepy eyes and put him down. He became his young self again and took off running into the green grass. I watched him go and then turned around and walked back over the bridge.

Our friend Cara sent me this lovely postcard and I imagine Phin running free and flying high in a beautiful place like this. She also sent me this valentine because she knew today would be hard for me. Our friend Celia painted this beautiful image for Phin and our friend KaRyn sent us this beautiful card.

Josh donated to NYCACC, Tisa donated to Frosty Faces, and Tunde donated to World Central Kitchen – all in Phinny’s honor. So many of you have sent me messages in so many forms and checked in on me. Please know how grateful I am. You are all helping me tremendously with every single small gesture. Phinny was loved by so many, and having that reminder really helps.

Phin helped me through so much – PTSD, the pandemic, cancer, new jobs, new apartments, breakups, and also celebrated an immeasurable number of joys and dreams with me. The void he’s left in my life seems like it has no end. Rest assured I’m trying to put one foot in front of the other and doing everything possible to find some comfort and peace after this impossible decision. The grief is heavy and will take a long time to process. This is just part of love persevering.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you. I love that we have a holiday that celebrates love in all its wondrous forms – for all the people and animals in our lives present and past, our communities, this beautiful planet we share, the work we do, causes and organizations we care about, and ourselves. I hope today and every day you let love fill you up and fuel your journey forward.

This is a photo of me and my forever valentine – my sweetheart of a dog. It’s from 2016 so he’s about 7 here. Love you & miss you, buddy. It was taken by our dear and talented friend Rachael when we lived in D.C.

It’s been just over two weeks since I held my little guy and it’s felt like 2 years. My great hope is that he’s happy, healthy, and running free. I love you, buddy. I hope your day is filled with all the things you love.💗

creativity

How to use your front door to inspire your life in 2024

Christa Avampato
My front door for 2024. Photo by Christa Avampato.

I decorated my front door for the new year with my 2024 word for the year, a Rumi quote I want to carry with me every day, and a handmade house blessing for my new apartment from my dear friend, Kelly Greenaur.

My word for 2024 — vulnerability
Instead of resolutions, I adopt a word for the year to guide my thoughts and actions, and I write out some of my wishes I hope the word helps me take. In 2023, my word was clarity and I did find more clarity in every area of my life. In 2024, my word is vulnerability. By embracing my own vulnerability and supporting others doing the same, I hope I can bridge the divides in our society, and between people and nature. By recognizing and naming my fears and concerns, I can alleviate them. I can only solve problems and challenges I’m willing to have. By recognizing and naming my hopes and dreams, I can realize them. I can only climb the mountains I’m willing to attempt.

My word for 2024. Photo by Christa Avampato.

Letting myself be vulnerable opens me up to experiences I need and want, and otherwise wouldn’t have. I don’t want to leave anything unsaid. I want to take more chances and risks, asking for what I want, explaining how I feel, and sharing what I believe. I’m excited to see who and what I’ll find on this adventure. I want to be open to the world, and whatever it has to show and teach me, even if that breaks me and cracks me open. With those cracks, more light will find its way in, as Rumi wrote and the late great Leonard Cohen sang.

Rumi
The Rumi quote, “Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”, is one I want to use this year to help heal others and the world. We have so much capacity to help each other through this life, and I want to make sure I use mine to the fullest. I’m hopeful the light I find by being more vulnerable will be light I can share with others.

Rumi quote. Art and photo by Christa Avampato.

A handmade house blessing
Kelly sent me this house blessing talisman for Christmas, along with a stitched bracelet and an ornament that says, “I wish you lived next door.” (Me, too, Kel!) They were made by two women — Dau Nan from Myanmar and Bina Biswa from Bhutan — who now live in Buffalo, New York and are part of Stitch Buffalo, a textile art center committed to empowering refugee and immigrant women through the sale of their handcrafted goods, inspiring creativity, inclusion, community education, and stewarding the environment through the re-use of textile supplies. These passions of helping people and the environment are ones Kelly and I share, and I’m so grateful for her friendship, love, and support.

Stitch Buffalo crafts. Photos by Christa Avampato.

I hope 2024 is everything you want and need it to be. This year will be turbulent, and holds opportunities for progress, joy, and love. Onward we go, together.

creativity

Let love lead

Christa Avampato
Dinner at Selwyn College. Photo by Mitch Reznick.

I’m flying back to the U.S. now after a week at University of Cambridge / Cambridge Institute for Sustainability Leadership (CISL) with passionate, intelligent, and inspiring classmates, presenters, professors, and the CISL team. This time I grew as much personally as professionally. I was able to ask questions, have discussions, and voice ideas I’ve previously struggled to articulate. I couldn’t have done that without my classmates and friends who listened, provided kind and constructive feedback, and offered their ideas, perspectives, and experiences. This is a gift I carry with me now. I’m so grateful for all of it.

Humour, play, creativity, and imagination played a role in many of our classes and social activities, and they helped bring joy, light, hope, and optimism into this challenging field. The work we do, on this course and in our lives as we attempt to tackle climate change issues from many different angles, is intense. It can also be intensely fun.

On a personal note, I began the week thinking of my stepfather who was my Dad-by-choice. My family lost him a year ago exactly on the day this workshop at Cambridge began. I honoured him in my pecha kucha presentation by sharing the last words he ever said to me in-person. I went to see my family right before our first workshop in September 2022. He said to me, “Hey, I know you’ll work hard at Cambridge, but please try to have some fun over there, too.”

My Dad knew me well, and it’s been difficult to lose someone who was always in my corner and read every piece of writing I’ve ever published. I could feel his spirit with me all week, encouraging me to embrace laughter and love whenever possible, especially during challenging times. Love and laughter serve as resources to help us stay with the trouble. They make us resilient. When we lead with love, we can open people up so that we deeply connect, collaborate, and create to tackle the most serious challenges together.

These photos show our formal dinner together at Selwyn College, my view from the train leaving Cambridge, and my Pops. As I go back to my New York life, I will do my best to put into action everything I learned in this beautiful, inspiring sanctuary with these beautiful, inspiring people. I’m already looking forward to July when we’ll be together again in Cambridge. I’m the luckiest person to be a part of this.

My view from the train – Cambridge to London. Photo by Christa Avampato.
creativity

This is the secret of life

Christa Avampato

If you get to the end of this story, I’ve got a secret to share with you. The upper left picture is me exactly two years ago right before I had a bilateral mastectomy and reconstructive surgery for early-stage breast cancer. My “Good Trouble” photo. The lower left is me the next morning at sunrise. My “I Survived” photo. The right is my official matriculation photo from the University of Cambridge taken last month as I began my graduate studies there in sustainability leadership. My “A Dream Deferred, but Not Denied” photo.

I have so much empathy for the woman on the left. It was the first time in my life I’d ever been admitted to a hospital and the first time I’d ever had surgery. I was terrified and also determined to be brave and evict cancer from my body.

With surgery I placed my life in someone else’s hands. I told Brian, my therapist, a few days before that I was terrified of surgery because there was no way for me to product manage the operation. He listened patiently, as always, and said, “Honey, you’re talented but even you can’t give yourself surgery. You have to trust someone else. The only way to conquer fear is to run right at it.”

It was a 5-hour tag-teamed procedure to remove all my breast tissue and 37 lymph nodes, and place chest expanders under my chest muscle. 14 months of constant pain later, they were swapped for much comfier implants. I smiled through the prep, thanking the nurses who helped me, determined not to crack.

Before entering the surgical suite that looked like a NASA space station, Dr. Schnabel, my breast surgeon, and Dr. Cohen, my plastic surgeon, visited with me. Dr. Schnabel looked me in the eye and said, “Sweetie, you’ve been stoic through this. It’s okay to have a moment. Then we go into battle.” Good trouble. I wanted to be as brave as John Lewis whom Audrey, my friend Stephanie’s daughter, painted onto my mask. That photo is the last day I had any cancer in my body.

I decided to walk into the surgical suite on my own two feet, even if my only armor was my surgical gown. I was scared and I ran right at it. This was going to be the last day that I had any cancer in my body. My last thought before closing my eyes was I hoped I lived to see the sunrise the next morning.

I have no memory of the surgery. I closed my eyes at NASA and woke up in the cloud of the recovery room. I was told they’d given me just a touch too much fentanyl and my blood pressure took a nosedive. I thought this was hilarious and laughed hysterically. Then I asked for some apple juice. Ah, narcotics.

I was in recovery for a long time and wasn’t admitted to a regular room until the wee hours of the morning. My dear recovery nurse, Esther, ran all over the hospital trying to find me a fresh turkey sandwich. I hadn’t eaten solid food in 24 hours and that plain turkey sandwich was one of the best things I’d ever eaten.

I told her my wish to see the sunrise and she was determined to make it a reality. I watched Harry Potter and munched on my turkey sandwich until daybreak. Maybe it was the drugs but I did feel like a witch with magical powers, as bandaged and bruised as I was.

Esther came back as soon as the sun started to come up. She helped me walk to a corner room where I could see the east river and the first rays of light illuminate my beautiful city. She left me alone to have my moment. I survived.

Back in my room, Dr. Schnabel and Dr. Cohen visited me. When I saw Dr. Schnabel, I cried for the first time. Again she looked me in the eye, two warriors on the other side of this one battle in a series of many more to come in this war. “Sweetie, it won’t always feel like this. You’re going to get to the other side. There’s a whole team of people focused on getting you there.”

I thanked her for saving my life, and she said, “I’m just part of the team. Team Christa.”

A few hours later my friend, Marita, picked me up at the hospital to take me home to where my sister who was graciously waiting for me with my dog, Phin. I had a giant bag of meds and surgical drains hanging out of my body. “How do you feel?” Marita asked once we got into her car. “I lived,” I said. “You did,” she said. “And you will.”

Fast-forward two years after climbing mountain after difficult mountain. That war on cancer was more epic than I ever imagined it would be. I nearly died, twice, from a severe and rare chemo allergy that shut down my lungs. I lost my long wavy hair to chemo and regrew 1940s ringlets. I was badly burned by radiation and completely healed. Now I’ve got new hard-earned boobs the same size as my OG boobs. That day in surgery was the last day there was ever any sign of cancer in my body—two years clear. Dr. Schnabel was right. I did get to the other side and I don’t feel the way I did before my surgery. This journey made me fearless.

When I was first diagnosed, I was just about to hit submit on my graduate school applications for Cambridge and Oxford. Then cancer struck and I had to put those applications away, afraid I may never get to submit them. I would sit in the chemo suite and dream about those far off places, dream that someday I would swap my surgical gown for an academic robe.

In September 2022, that dream happened. I took the train from platform 9 at King’s Cross to Cambridge, my own version of the Hogwarts Express just ¾ of a platform off. I thought about how I had watched Harry Potter’s train chug along on my TV screen in my hospital room two years before.

When I arrived at Cambridge, I dragged by very large bag that felt like a trunk onto the platform. I had myself a good cry in that train station. Here it was—my dream deferred, but not denied.

At my recent appoint to get the all-clear and graduate to annual checkups rather than 6 month checkups, Dr. Schnabel called my healing and this new academic chapter of my life a triumph. The dream became a reality, and I’m beyond grateful to everyone who helped me get here.  

I’ll never get back the life I had before the photos on the left, before cancer and COVID. I mourn the loss of that life. I miss it. But in exchange, I got something better. Environmental pollution was one of the main contributors to my cancer. Now I’m healed and dedicated to healing the planet.

Now for that secret I promised you at the start of this story. Along the way on this painful and difficult journey, I learned the secret of life. It’s love.

To love fiercely and be loved that way in return. To love whom we spend time with, the place we live, and the work we do. To love the planet that gives us everything and asks in return only to persist and continue giving to all of us. To love this life so much that our heart swells with gratitude for every day we’re given, the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful. To love and honor your time, and the time of others.  That’s it. That’s the secret, and it will transform us and our planet for the better.

Get into good trouble; the planet is counting on us. Survive, and then share your story because your story’s going to save someone else. Even if you have to put some dreams on hold right now, you can still make them happen bit by bit and they’ll be sweeter when you do get there.

Love, this and every moment. That’s the only secret there is, and the only work we really have to do.

creativity

Joy Today: An inclusive Valentine’s Day

Christa Avampato

I love that we have a holiday about love. I just wish it were more inclusive. Today, I hope you love the heck out of everything that makes you happy—friends, family, pets, animals, your city, books, your work, your creative projects, history, science, travel, art, curiosity itself. And I hope you get in some serious self-care and do something extra nice for yourself. That’s the kind of Valentine’s Day I’m into.❤️

creativity

Joy Today: The detours are the journey

Christa Avampato

“Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” -Rumi

We’ll be disappointed. Things won’t go as planned. Try another route. Another idea. Another pitch. These failures are all material. The detours are the journey.

creativity

Joy Today: Hear about my love affair with science at New York City’s Story Collider

Christa Avampato

I’m over-the-moon about being part of the New York City Story Collider show, My Love Affair with Science, on Tuesday, February 5th at Caveat. I’ll be talking about my long and winding road of a relationship with science and how we got to where we are today. Tickets on sale now: https://www.storycollider.org/shows/2019/2/5/new-york-ny-my-love-affair-with-science

creativity

A Year of Yes: Reflecting on a painful anniversary

Christa Avampato

Every year I expect December 1st to get easier, and it doesn’t. Today is the 26th anniversary of my father’s passing. Over this many years I have released a lot of the anger, and have found a way to wish him the peace he couldn’t seem to find here, wherever he resides now. There’s some grace in that forgiveness, some healing.

This day will never be painless. It will ache, sometimes uncontrollably, and I must make room for that. It will always be unresolved and unfinished. It will always be hard. And maybe it should be. Maybe it needs to be. Like it or not, it’s an annual reminder to me that we are not infinite on this plane and in this form. Our time is precious, irreplaceable, and so it is to be treasured and valued by us and by those we welcome into our lives. Our time is a gift we give and receive constantly. It will be used no matter what, and so our job is to make sure it’s put to use in the best way possible.

I hope today and every day that your hours are filled with the people and things you love.

creativity

A Year of Yes: If Mister Rogers ran the world today

Christa Avampato

“Love, or the lack of it, is the root of everything.” ~Mister Rogers, Won’t You Be My Neighbor

Fred Rogers was a life-long Republican. He saved PBS by testifying before Congress. He accepted all people. He cared about the arts, education, and feelings. Imagine the world today if he ran the GOP.

creativity

A Year of Yes: Your life as a blank page

Christa Avampato

“I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.” ~Jack Kerouac

No matter you age, your past choices, or your current situation, every day is a blank page. You can see it as empty, or you can see it as an opportunity. It’s the same page, just a different perspective. Your move.

I was walking home from a memorial service yesterday. The person being honored at the service poured his love into the universe, into every person he met, and it came back to him many times over when he needed it most. Even in the depths of his incurable illness, he found the light that every day offered. Right to the end. His life is a powerful example of the glow that comes from the blank page. He could do anything he wanted, and he chose to be of service, to create community, to welcome love into his life with wide open arms. And because of those choices, his impact will far outlast his much-too-short life. We should all be so lucky, and we can be, if we choose to be.