The sweet and the low

I'll start with the good.
The weekend in Germany was incredible. I took a night train from Bologna to Munich- 7 hours next to a man from Napoli who expounded without stopping on his views on immigration (against), evolution (impossible), and the youth of today (drug addicts and drunks, all of them). The 17 year old Italian across from me insisted in touching my legs with his legs throughout the trip, stretching out across the compartment and innocently changing position whenever I tried to shift away. I finally made it to Munich at 6.30 in the morning and camped out in a cafe until Tabea arrived at 11. After a lovely cup of coffee in downtown Munich, we went to drop off our bags at her friend Flo's house, conviently located about 3 blocks from Oktoberfest, which was already in full swing by 2 o'clock in the afternoon. After a quick lunch (of pasta... go figure) we made our way down to the site. It was jam packed with more people in lederhosen than I have ever seen. There were giant carnival rides, stands selling traditional (pretzels and bratwurst) and not so traditional (beer ice cream?) Bavarian treats, and of course, the famous beer halls- giant tents filled with people drinking litre-mugs of cold, savory, foamy German beer. We made a halfhearted attempt to get into a tent, but there wasn't much chance. People had been waiting since 9 am to get in, and there was no sign of anyone coming out. Instead, we walked around, went on a carnival ride, and then decided to go get drinks in town before dinner.
We returned to Flo's house for a lovely traditional meal of sausages, potatoes and saurkraut, and afterwards we were joined by some new friends for cocktails, german board games, and a midnight snack of nachos. The next day Tabea and I returned to Stuttgart for Jason Mraz. It was lovely seeing her family again, they are some of the most welcoming people I've ever met. The concert was spectacular, even better than I could have hoped. We were second row from the front and we danced and sang without stopping for the entirety. Sadly, the weekend was over in the blink of an eye. Monday I packed up and left for Italy, enjoying my last few moments of the incredible German public transportation and overall good organization.
On arriving in Pisa around 9 pm I learned that the only train to Bologna left from Florence at 1.47 am. As I sulked, waiting for my first train to arrive, I got a call from my dad. He sounded strange on the phone, and after asking about my weekend, he said he had some terrible news. I felt my heart drop straight into my stomach. At first I thought it must be to do with my mom's heart- she's still having some trouble and they're thinking they might have to operate again. But I could never have guessed what was coming.
"I don't want to tell you this, but Fiona died." His voice broke, and I felt my throat close up.
They think she must have eaten something poison, since one day she was healthy, and the next she came home horribly sick. The morning after, she was gone, having fallen asleep on her favorite leather couch in the living room. My parents are destroyed, it must be so much worse for them than me, living in the suddenly very empty house.
It's amazing how much an animal can steal your heart, and how much losing them can break it. I still can't believe her little smiling face won't be waiting for me at home this Christmas. She's still so alive in my memory.