Thank You Saint Anthony; Italy

 

     “It happened again, Lu. Sally backed out of the trip just as we were to send a check.”

     “What? Again?”

     “I don’t know if I’ll ever get to Rome. I so wanted to be surrounded by the history of our grandparents.”

     “That’s a shame.”

     “Gotta go. Talk to you next week.”

     As I hung up, I took out the vacuum. The phone rang again.

     “Hi Ro, Tom overheard our conversation. He is willing to treat me to a trip to Rome with you! What do ya think?”

     “I was just feeling sorry for myself but this is even better news. I’ll be there with my sister!  Thank Tom for me!”

      This was January and as we were moving closer to June we were getting more and more excited.

      We were at JFK airport in New York and slowly walking to the gate. It was a night flight and we made sure we had no caffeine all day so we could sleep on the plane. The weather was warm and sunny when we landed as were our dispositions. Everyone we met was friendly and smiling.

     We toured the Vatican gardens and museum and spent time in the lovely Saint Peter’s Basilica. There is something to be said for standing in a revered place and contemplating about its history and present day function. We spent lots of silent time drinking in the magnificence of the architecture and art works. The Sistine Chapel kept us in awe that day as we craned our heads to peer at each painting of Adam and God the Father, and the other figures. We did not want to leave as we were herded through after about thirty minutes, all in silence. The recordings emphasized that the moisture from our voices would affect the paintings. Thinking back keeping quiet was just what we should have done to take in the brilliance of the fresco.

     I must admit that our scheduled trip to Padua did not seem so special to me until we pulled into the square (piazza). I remarked to myself that this was the prettiest of all we had seen so far because of the white marble statues lining the manicured square. Then we were told about the relics of Saint Anthony and how these were in the Church named after him. I became queasy as we were encouraged to view the relics as we moved through the Church. Then something unusual happened. As we were moving along, a Swedish woman, pushed my sister and spoke so all could hear, “You Americans are so pushy.” We were all being jostled along. I was angry that this woman said this but my sister looked at me and kept silent, as not to start a scene.

     At that moment, something very strong and unusual happened inside of me. I had a compelling feeling about my youngest brother and my mother. They had had a falling out that lasted over a year and were not talking. Mom was battling cancer and my family had been praying that they would reconcile. At that moment, I knew that they would reunite. It was that strong. I had to buy a Saint Anthony medal in the gift shop, something I did not do anywhere else.

     Later on I told my sister about my strong feelings. She said, “I hope you’re right, for Mom’s sake.”

     When we returned home and visited with our parents, I told my mother about my experience. She wanted to know when it would happen. I just kept saying that I knew that they would reconcile and gave her the medal for safe keeping. “Give the medal back to me when it happens.”

     Months later, Mom received the worst news that any cancer patient can hear. The cancer had spread to her other organs. When she called to tell me the news, I began to sob and couldn’t stop. My husband offered to call my brother. The next night we hurried dinner so we could visit with my parents. Soon after we arrived, my youngest brother and family walked in. There were hugs and smiles all around where there had been arguments. It was a joyous occasion and one that helped buoy my mother’s spirits despite the bad medical news. After that day, He was back visiting with Mom whenever he could.

     After he left that night, I asked Mom if she knew where the Saint Anthony medal was. “I knew this would happen, I said.”

     Then I remembered something I knew once. Saint Anthony is the patron saint of the lost. My brother was lost and then found in a small town in Italy called Padua.

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