Padre Pio, Man of Sorrows, Pray for Us

On this day sixteen years ago, twelve days after the planes flew into the World Trade Towers, I found out I was expecting our first baby. I recall the extremes of emotion from excitement, wonderment, surprise (my doctor had told me I would have difficulty becoming pregnant), trepidation, and concern. I'd just started a new job as a Catholic school teacher, my husband was doing temp work while looking for employment, we had zero savings after buying our first home, and our country seemed hungry for war.

My parents were in town for a work trip and we had plans to meet them at their hotel downtown that Sunday morning. We intended to keep our news to ourselves for awhile, but my face gave me away. Dad kept asking what was going on and Mom got teary. After an approving glance from Jason I asked how they'd feel about becoming grandparents in the spring. Dad slapped his knees with joy. Mom cried. We went to Mass at the Old Cathedral and walked about the Arch grounds as the news settled and a peace came into my heart.

On this day four years ago, I was folding laundry in my living room half watching mindless mid-morning news shows when our DVR auto switched the channel to EWTN. I let it be. It began recording (on its own) a biography about Saint Padre Pio, whose feast day it was. I'd not heard of this saint before, and he's pretty far out, stigmata, bilocation, levitation, and physically battling the devil at night. He was also big on redemptive suffering, the idea that our trials on earth are never without benefit either for our own souls, or for those of others.

At the time, the prayer most on my heart was for my friend's son, Jack. Jack was a fourteen year old who'd been battling muscle disease his whole life now succumbing to heart failure. It was an impossibly painful and helpless time. I decided to ask for the intercession of Padre Pio on Jack's behalf. Jack had never been able to communicate other than with his eyes or the squeeze of a hand. He knew all about redemptive suffering. Four months later, despite our hopes for a miracle, Jack passed away. I flew to Phoenix for the funeral and was taken aback by the officiant. He was a Franciscan friar (Padre Pio's given name was Francisco, and he began his priesthood as a Franciscan) and looked just like him. The resemblance was comforting. Father de Blas passed away about a year later.

Padre Pio

Fr Alonso de Blas

I began reading all I could about this Padre Pio character, that I had felt had a hand in Jack's transition into heaven. He was beatified on May 2, 1999. Ben was born exactly three years later. He was canonized June 16, 2002, three days before we brought an extremely sick newborn Ben home from the hospital. Like Ben, he was very sick as a child and suffered much, especially with his lungs. He had to be home schooled due to his health. He was born in a small Italian town, Pietrelcina. He built a hospital in San Giovanni Rotondo just north of his home town called, "Home for Relief of the Suffering".

Pio is the patron saint of adolescents and I believe he picked young Ben out to watch over, to be one of his spiritual children. When Ben was 13 years old, he developed a cholesteatoma, a benign tumor, in his right ear. It is benign, in that it is not cancerous, but devastating in that it erodes the tissue it touches. He had it removed that December, but it had destroyed the hearing in that ear so a prosthetic inner ear was built for him. It is unusual for the cholestatoma to reoccur, but in Ben it did. So it was again removed eight months later, along with the prosthetic. When the cholestatoma returned for the third time it was with the frightening news that the tumor had gone outside the mastoid space of the ear and was likely entering the brain. The surgeon set the date for the third removal of cholesteatoma, September 23, 2015. When we realized the surgery happened to be set on the feast day of Padre Pio we decided to pray a novena leading up to the date asking for Pio's intercession to protect Ben's brain.


On this day two years ago, Ben's surgery went beautifully. His surgeon was amazed that though there was definitely evidence of further erosion from the tumor, he could find no tumor and that he had to shore up the lining between the mastoid space and the brain, but that his brain was unharmed. The CT images had indicated otherwise. Perhaps not surprisingly, Ben chose Padre Pio as his confirmation saint the following May.

The day after the surgery my husband went on a retreat through our parish. During adoration he brought the suffering of his son to Jesus. As he'd done so many times, he again offered himself in place of Ben. Soon after he felt intense pressure in the palms of his hands and the word, "pellegrino", filled his head and also the command, "Be my healer." The pressure briefly became pain and then faded. He didn't know what to think of it but when he shared this with me later, I talked with him about stigmata and that pellegrino is "pilgrim" in Italian. The name Jason means healer and he works in healthcare. We sat with the event, unsure of what it meant, but compelled to seek further.

On this day one year ago, Ben had a follow up CT, again scheduled arbitrarily, to check for reoccurrence. Again, we asked for Padre Pio's intercession for the nine days prior. Ben's scan was clear.  It is interesting to note that Padre Pio had surgery to remove a malignant tumor from his own ear.

I have tried to keep it hidden, but my own suffering has intensified lately. I cannot do the things I could do even two years ago. My muscle weakness is much worse and is affecting daily life. I struggle to clean the house, do simple chores, climb the stairs, and carry groceries. I'm concerned my weak eye muscles will prevent me from writing. I try to take a walk every day so that I can continue to walk that distance, but my body is heavy. I have a sense that my physical capabilities will continue to decline.

On this feast of Padre Pio, I marvel at God's works, at His hand in our life. I wonder what is next, but I do not fear. Padre Pio is known to say, "Pray, Hope, and Don't Worry!" a mantra I take to heart. Soon, we will go visit Padre Pio. We will be literal pilgrims and visit his birthplace, his tomb, his chapel. We will present our pain to his Home for the Relief of Suffering. Maybe God will take it from us, or maybe we'll choose to continue to offer up our suffering as redemptive. We are compelled by faith and by a certain saint who is said to be standing just this side of the gates of heaven waiting for all his spiritual children to enter before he can finally rest.