I began walking up to the square while Jason and the kids finished breakfast. I passed the gate for the hospital, The Home for the Relief of Suffering and laughed to myself that we'd only gone in there to use the free restroom, relieving a suffering of a different sort, then wondered soberly if maybe we should have made an appointment.
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| Breakfast in San Giovanni in Rotundo |
Returning to the church, I looked at the mosaic with fresh eyes. Padre Pio didn't seem to be running anymore, just standing there, urging us to see what he saw. The Lady of Grace mosaic was there when Padre Pio lived here (his image was added when he was canonized in 2002). He said his final Mass before it. In the icon image, Jesus is reaching for his mother's breast, his nourishment, and a symbol of grace. But Jesus doesn't appear as a baby wanting to nurse, instead he's offering his mother's milk, her graces, to us. Behold, your mother. More foreshadowing. I lit a candle at the statue of Grace and blew one last kiss to Fatima.
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| Our Lady of Grace in the old church |
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| Pio's loft |
Pietrelcina is an idyllic hill town chiseled out of the stone surrounded by pastureland. Padre Pio had said that while he lived he favored San Giovanni, but after he died, he would devote his attention to Pietrcelcina, offering spiritual protection to his terra. I had some concern that Jason would find that goat farm, and we'd never leave.
The first soul we met beneath this mantel was the director of the museum, a priest who studied under Padre Pio. He travels regularly to America to bring relics for visits. Father Fortunato gave us his card and a family blessing. After we explored the museum, we entered the church. Padre Pio wanted it built here, next to the convent. It was modeled after Santa Maria delle Grazie in San Giovanni. There was even a Fatima statue placed in the same location, in honor of the centennial anniversary year. Jason, Ben, and I sat quietly to pray while Alex explained all he could discern about the items and images they found around the church.
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| Pio's loft recreated |
Realizing no one else was in the church and seeing that this statue was reachable. I stood, intending to kiss her feet. But as I approached I noticed the camera trained on the statue, and again lost my resolve. Another blown kiss.
Here, Jason felt as if he had a little conversation with Mary.
What should I do now?
Go home. You have what you need.
What did we need? Why did we need to come here?
For Peace.
Before obeying we found the area of town that had the parish church of Mary of the Angels where Padre Pio celebrated his first Mass. It contains a very old and storied statue of Our Lady of Liberty, not to be confused with Lady Liberty of New York. This statue was made in honor of Mary who was said to have saved the entire region from military occupation 1400 years ago. In 1854 the 200 year old statue was placed on a litter and carried around asking for Mary's intercession to save the town from a Cholera epidemic. After that night no one else got the disease or died from it. They've repeated this procession every December 2nd since.
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| Saint Mary of the Angels |
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| Our Lady of Liberty |
We were searching for the home of Padre Pio and had become a little lost in the narrow winding paths, when Anna appeared. She was on her way to a funeral and her brother was the keeper of the keys for all the Padre Pio sights in town. She walked with us and showed us the way. Eyeing Ben and I, she warned us not to climb the treacherous and uneven steps to Padre Pio's tower room. We did it anyway, gingerly, and it was worth the effort to give sight to the stories we've read. We referred to our guide as Santa Anna for her help, but she corrected us sternly, not yet! Then she showed us the real Santa Anna, the little ancient church where Pio was baptized as Francesco Forgione, and received his early sacraments.
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| Pio's Tower |
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| His room |
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| Saint Anna |
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| Padre Pio's Baptismal Font |
There is a stone path that leads from the town to the Forgione farm in Piano Romano located 5 km outside of town. Padre Pio used to travel this path each day praying the rosary. It is now named Cammino del Rosario. We drove. There, we found a new pilgrim church and a little chapel that was built over the place where Padre Pio first received the invisible stigmata. The Elm tree where this happened is preserved. We saw the farm house where ten year old Padre Pio ate a bowl full of hot peppers, curing his respiratory illness.
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| Rosary Walk |
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| Piano Romano Church |
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| Our Lady of Grace and the Elm |
We noticed that as we explored Pietrelcina, an obviously vibrant and lived in place, it seemed that we were nearly the only people around with the exception of a few that were helpful to us, like Fortunato and Anna, a shop keeper who made us sandwiches of prosciutto and pecorino and his young, joy filled friend or relative in the wheelchair, and a gelato stand that opened just as the kids were asking for the treat. Alex and Gigi love animals and were very fond of watching the stray cats and dogs along the way. We met a woman that told us the names of the towns' pets that belonged to no one and everyone. Every door was opened to us. Every want or need addressed without fail. For everything else, we enjoyed a private audience with Padre Pio. Sacred Silence on holy ground, for he will command his angels concerning you and guard you in all your ways.
Our short day trip had taken longer than anticipated and we were cutting it close to getting the rental car back to Rome on time, so we lifted up our final prayers of thanks and thy will be dones and loaded up again. Our mischievous navigation device sent us an obscure route back to the highway through very narrow and unpaved farm paths. We realized we were doing that Rosary Cammino after all and going by way of many goat farms. Only, they weren't actually goat farms, all were sheep.
After some quiet contemplation along the way, we all began talking about our Padre Pio experience and sharing what we'd gained. We agreed that we were coming away with a sense of peace and a new resolve to seek and do God's will in our lives. I said that God must have a purpose for my loss of strength and we'd take it as it comes. Then I remarked with a little laugh, 'But Padre Pio, we came all this way, I kind of thought you might heal us."
Some time passed and we became quiet again, lulled by the gentle landscape, dotted with hill towns topped with castles and/or cathedrals. Suddenly Alex exclaimed, "Look at the sun!" To the west was a long line of mountains, though it was a clear day, dark storm clouds had descended over the ridge. Peeking through a perfectly formed heart shaped cutout of the clouds was the sun. But, more like a beating heart, fiery sun that danced and pulsated with flame. As I attempt to describe this it sounds ominous, but there was nothing dark or foreboding about the moment. All was light. All was love. Intense love of God for us! Jason and I both felt so peace filled and remarked in unison, "It looks like the Sacred Heart!" We were so content and supremely satisfied. Jason reached for my hand. That's what peace tastes like.
Now, we can go home.
But before we did, we still had one more day to enjoy in Rome, Thanksgiving Day. As we approached the town center we realized we didn't have much time to get the car back to the rental place, so Jason was going to have to drop the kids and I and all the luggage and the disassembled wheelchair off outside the hotel to avoid late fees. I remember praying for assistance in completing this task and for Jason to get to the Termini in time. I turned my focus to navigating to the hotel through the suffocated swarm in an unfamiliar part of town.
We arrived and what I felt should have been a stressful or chaotic experience was all happening very smoothly. I don't remember struggling with the wheelchair. Maybe Jason somehow put it together? The kids were rather quickly all sitting in the lobby with the luggage accounted for while I checked in. Without being asked, a porter went over to the kids to help and loaded the elevator with Ben in his chair, Gigi, and most of the bags. That left just Alex and I each with a suitcase. I had the key to the second floor room and the elevator had departed, so Alex and I took the stairs since it was only one flight and the others would be waiting for the key. I felt lucky to have landed with the lightest suitcase. We climbed the stairs to floor one. Ah, lobby is a zero. More stairs to go, but the cane or my meds or all that resting in the car or maybe my prayer for help or tasting peace propelled me. I didn't take the time to mull it over, I was in mama-duck-in-a-new-nest mode. I set up house for the evening and began to work on the evening's plan for when Jason arrived so we'd be ready to go.
Jason arrived, pleased to have returned the car in time, and we hit the pavement, Colosseum bound. As we walked, I noticed an odd sensation in my legs, like a bubbling stretching and the cane felt strange and cumbersome in my hand. I switched hands and it was still wrong. Then I looked down and noticed I was half-way up a pretty steep hill and I hadn't felt it at all. Normally, I'm very aware of even slight inclines in the road. I gave voice to this, wondering aloud what was going on with my legs. There was a stone wall along the road, bench high. I sat on it and stood up without leaning on the cane. I did it again. Then I walked the rest of the way up that hill, without placing the cane on the ground. It was easy!
It began to dawn on me that maybe something else had happened to me in that moment of heart-shaped peace. I desired strongly to be in a church. We arrived in the square of the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. That'll do. Only, the guards turned us away because it was closing.
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| Saint Mary Major |
Luckily, churches are pretty easy to find in Rome, so we walked on and found an open church a block or so away. I guess Mary wanted us to pay her parents a visit, because this church was dedicated to Sts Joachim and Ann of the Hills, Jesus' grandparents. Alex, Gigi and I climbed the stairs-still easy! Jason and Ben went around back to a ramp. Only a priest was inside, celebrating Mass alone. I knelt to be present in whatever came next and gratitude poured from my heart. We stayed for the Liturgy of the Word. There was a suffering mother in the first reading, unfaltering feet on a steadfast path in the responsorial, and another parable about talents in the Gospel.
We continued on to the Colosseum and the reality of the physical change in my body was becoming more clear, though I still felt like I was dreaming. We came to an open space and asked Ben to test his strength. He stood and tried to jump, stand on one foot, and run. No change. His body was still weak. The giddiness I had been feeling soured to guilt in an instant and a wave of sadness arose in my throat. I apologized to Ben through tears, why me? If only one, choose him! Ben hugged me and said, "It's okay, Mom. I didn't pray to be healed."
"Why not?" I asked incredulously.
"I don't know. It's not God's way for me. I'm supposed to pray for people who have nobody to pray for them and for the souls in purgatory."
I was astounded by his words, but I understood them entirely. Long ago, when infant Ben was caught in the prism between life and death, I demanded God return him to us. God asked if I was sure, would I help carry his cross? I said yes.
Now, in the shadow of ancient Roman ruins my fifteen year old son was standing before me, saying yes for himself. Without using those words, Ben chose the path of redemptive suffering.
Had God made me strong again so I could continue to carry the cross?
Surely, this was a dream.
We wanted to take the kids to our favorite restaurant, the place we celebrated our engagement, Taverna di Mercanti in Trastevere. On the way, Gigi got tired and asked Jason to carry her. Instead, I reached down and tested what it felt like to lift her. She rose right up! I swung her around on my back and carried her for a long time, hiding my tears of joy. I had not picked her up for at least three years.
Our food arrived and I had the fresh surprise of realizing my swallow had improved. It happened naturally and painlessly, effortlessly. We ate dinner in a bit of a stupor. I didn't know how to act or what to say. I was grateful, sad, and unsure it would last, but I knew something big had happened and that God was the author.
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| Me helping Ben up the stairs |
It was the feast day of Saint Cecilia, the patron of music and we were located right next to the church that was built over her home. She is buried there. We walked over and found it open. A music concert had just ended. We venerated her tomb and said some more thank yous, still mulling all that had occurred.
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| San Cecilia |
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| Her tomb |
All that evening I continued to try things out. I stood repeatedly from a low seat. I did jumping jacks. I stood on one foot without falling. I pushed Ben's wheelchair up hills. As I walked I felt my tight heel cords releasing, stretching, and nowhere in my body did I feel achy or tight or sore. I did not recognize this body as my own.
I had been healed.
We walked back to our hotel and I had a very hard time falling asleep that night. I wondered if it would still be true tomorrow.
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