Father Pellegrino shares with deep emotion the last hours spent at Padre Pio’s side before his final farewell. “It was a moment of intimacy and devotion,” he reflects, bearing witness to the Saint’s immense love for God and the spiritual children he considered his disciples. A deeply personal and moving account that offers a glimpse of his authentic humanity and unwavering faith. His earthly departure remains etched in the hearts of those who were near him, a culminating act imbued with grace and dedication to his Lord.
Padre Pio: A Farewell of Grace and Divine Devotion.
Father Pellegrino recounts: That evening, shortly after 9:00 p.m. on September 22, 1968, Padre Pio left his cell. I took his place to stay with the Saint for a while. After spending a moment by his side, I left the room. Soon after, Padre Pio, ever gentle in his requests, used the intercom to call me back inside. I found him lying on his bed, on his right side. In a weak but serene voice, he asked me a simple question: “What time is it?” while pointing to the clock on his nightstand. His reddened eyes silently shed tears, soft and unwavering, which I gently wiped away before leaving. I left the intercom on, just in case. Until midnight, he called me five or six times; his discreet expressions of sorrow, imbued with a quiet strength, seemed like a silent prayer offered to God. At midnight, like a frightened child, he begged me, “Stay with me, my son.” He then began asking me very frequently what time it was. Each time, his voice carried a mix of longing and quiet resignation, as though he sought reassurance in the passing minutes. He looked at me with imploring eyes, holding my hands tightly. Then, as if he had forgotten his repeated questions, he asked, “My son, have you already celebrated Holy Mass?” I smiled and replied, “Spiritual Father, it’s too early for the celebration.” He responded, “Well, this morning, you will say it for me.” I added, “But every morning, I celebrate Holy Mass for your intentions.”
He then wished to go to confession. At the end of his sacramental confession (the confession of sins made to a priest as part of the Sacrament of Reconciliation), he said, “My son, if the Lord calls me today, ask the brothers to forgive me for all the trouble I caused them. And ask the brothers and the spiritual children to pray for my soul.” I replied, “Spiritual Father, I’m sure the Lord will let you live much longer. But if you are right, may I ask for one last blessing for the brothers, the spiritual children, and the sick?” He answered, “Yes, I bless them all. I even ask the Superior to give me this final blessing.” Finally, he asked me to renew the act of religious profession. At one o’clock in the morning, he said, “Listen, my son, I can’t breathe well here in bed. Help me get up. I’ll breathe better sitting upright.” It was the time when he usually got up to prepare for Holy Mass. Before moving into his wheelchair, he had the habit of walking a bit in the corridor. That night, to my great surprise, I noticed that he was walking with a vigor that defied his years, his steps steady and sure, as though he were decades younger. Upon reaching the threshold of his room, he said, “Let’s go see the terrace.” I followed him, holding his hand under his arm. He turned on the light himself. Once near the chair, he sat down calmly. He was looking at the terrace as if searching for something. After five minutes, he wanted to return to his quarters. I tried to help him stand up, but he said, “I can’t.” Indeed, he had become heavier. “Don’t worry, Spiritual Father,” I said to encourage him, immediately fetching the wheelchair, which was only a few steps away. I hoisted him by his underarms to help him out of the chair and into the wheelchair. Calmly, he raised his feet off the ground and placed them on the footrest. Back in his chamber, once I had settled him in his chair, he looked at me and gestured with his left hand toward the wheelchair, saying, “Take it out.”
When I returned, I was struck to see that the Padre was beginning to grow pale and had cold sweats. His lips were starting to turn blue. He kept repeating, “Jesus, Mary,” in an increasingly weak voice. I made a move to call another brother, but he stopped me, saying, “Don’t wake anyone.” I stepped a few feet away, but he called me back. Thinking he wouldn’t insist further, I returned. However, he softly repeated, “Let them sleep.” I pleaded with him, “Father, let me act now.” I ran to Father Mariano’s cell, but upon seeing Brother Guglielmo’s (a fellow friar) door open, I entered, turned on the light, and shook him: “Padre Pio is ill.” In an instant, Brother Guglielmo reached Father Mariano’s quarters, and I ran to call Dr. Sala. Dr. Sala arrived about ten minutes later and, upon seeing Padre Pio, readied the supplies with urgency, his expression grave as he assessed the situation. When everything was ready, Brother Guglielmo and I tried to lift him, but since we couldn’t manage, we had to lay him on the bed. The doctor gave the injection and then helped us get him back into the chair, while the Padre continued to repeat, in an ever weaker voice and with barely moving lips, “Jesus, Mary.” Meanwhile, alerted by Dr. Sala, Mario Pennelli, Padre Pio’s nephew; Dr. Gusso, the medical director of the Casa Sollievo (a hospital founded by Padre Pio in San Giovanni Rotondo); and Dr. Giovanni Scarale arrived. I had already called the Father Guardian (the superior of the friars), Father Mariano, and other confreres, who were also present. While the doctors provided oxygen, first with the cannula and then with a mask, it became clear that the end was drawing near. Father Paolo of San Giovanni Rotondo gave the sacrament of the sick to the Spiritual Father. The other confreres, kneeling, offered quiet supplications. At about 2:30 a.m., Padre Pio gently bowed his head to his chest and passed away.
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