A lot has happened between age 18 and age 90, however. I may fill in the details in between at some point. But keep in mind 70 years have passed between the Hisao and Lilly of the last chapters and this.
Someday I will fill in the details.
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... Lilly and, amazingly I, lived to see 70 years together, all throughout our travels in Europe, America, Asia. The world.
More and more she showed me how the love of God was in the world, wherever we went. Now, in truth, I always thought something greater than myself ruled the world - maybe because I could never believe any one man, or even a council of men - or even a council of women - ruled the world themselves. But it was not until Lilly opened my eyes that I saw what I saw how much God was not only rational, but my
father.
Our Father.
But in wealth, or poverty, in sickness or health, in war or peace, in life, or death, God's love always is with those who love Him. And Our Father loved, very much, my Lilly. My Lilly of the wheatfields. We met in the wheatfields. And it was in the wheatfields where we parted.
It was almost at the end of our last pilgrimage through Europe. In Pietrelcina, in Italy, we walked through the fields. Though weak, I was able to walk fairly well with a cane. Lilly depended on a cane of her own just to walk, and we often walked arm-in-arm, holding each other up. Through the fields we walked, to an old, stone chapel, where Padre Pio had gone with his family as a boy. Lilly and I were going to the liturgy alone, though I know Lilly certainly by the dry smile and clasped hands she certainly kept our boys and their families in her prayers, and she still does, I am sure.
The old, knotty, wooden door to the church needed only to be pushed open a smidge.
"We are here, my love," I whispered in my native tongue.
She grinned brightly. "The incense is strong, and sweet. I love it."
We kept hold of each other, and shuffled into one of the simple pews on the right. It was not a large church; there were maybe seven simple pews on each side of the church, with room for three, maybe four, people to each. The walls were simple white stucco. Even the marble altar on four rectangular marble legs was bedecked with a plain, white cloth, and two square iron candelabras. It was the picture of emptied simpleness, all of the richness and beauty poured into two things in the entire church: a
carved wooden crucifix, which was hanging above the a
gold-covered cylinder Lilly called a "tabernacle". Standing in the middle of the modest chapel, among the small crowd of tourists and local churchgoers, was a young, short, modest Franciscan, no more than 30, in his brown robes and that Franciscan hairstyle which cuts off all except a ring of hair off. I presumed he was to celebrate the liturgy.
He walked slowly up to us and rested his hands on the side of the pew, and greeted us.
"Ciao. Benvenuto. Sei pellegrini?"* ("Hi. Welcome. Are you pilgrims?")
After a pause - I do not know much Italian - I turned to Lilly, out of habit. She knew what to do, anyway.
"Sì. Dal Giappone," she replied. ("Yes, from Japan.")
"Benvenuto. Potrebbe sia venuto a l'altare?" ("Welcome. Could you both come to the altar?") He gestured to the altar at the front of the chapel.
"Sì."
She then whispered to me: "Hisao-kun, he wants us to go to the altar. Lead me there."
I stood up, and waited for her. When she stood, she reached out so I could lead her by the hand. We walked slowly up the aisle to the front of the church, under the steady eye of the Franciscan. His hands were at his side, simply waiting.
When we stopped in front of him, he came up to Lilly.
"Signora, vedo che sei bellissima." ("Madame, I see you are beautiful.")
She giggled a bit. "Grazie, Don." ("Thank you, Father.")
"Vedo anche che sei cieca," ("I see you are also blind,") he added, a slight, patient smile on his face, as if waiting for angels to come flying out of her pupils.
"Sì."
He paused, choosing the words carefully in his mind like a man carefully choosing the right wires to cut to defuse a bomb.
"Mi Padre in Paradiso ha parlato oggi," ("My Father in Heaven spoke to me today,") he continued, slowly reaching his hand forward to her head.
"Cosa ha detto?" ("What did he say?")
His hand planted on top of her thin, white hair.
"...Vuole di vedere." ("...He wants you to see.")
I watched on. I had seen many, many miracles in my time... but... this couldn't be... for us?
"Chiudi i tuoi occhi," ("Close thy eyes,") said the priest.
Her cloudy, blue eyes closed. And he removed his hand.
"Veda." ("See.")
She opened her eyes...
... And I saw they were no longer cloudy. The clouds in them had flown and cleared into a deep Navy blue, and I could see her pupils.
She tilted her head around. "This... is..."
She had no idea what to say. Her mouth widened into an astounded smile.
And she laughed.
She turned her eyes to me, looked on my face, and felt it as she had many times.
"Hisao..." she choked out, as her small, gaunt hands brushed her tears away. "my love..."
She turned to the young, tonsured priest. "...G-ggrazie, D-don." ("Thank you, Father.")
Smiling brightly this whole time, he simply nodded.
She turned, then, to the carved cross in the front, and walked toward Him, her fingers reaching for the feet of the man (it was a very large, tall cross).
"Is... this..." She could barely summon the words, so awestruck she was that she could see. "...my Lord and saviour?"
"
Watashi Wa," spoke a profound yet pleasant male voice. I, the priest, and Lilly all jumped when we heard it. I turned around to see who could have said it. But I and the priest were the only men in the room. In fear, I turned to the priest and my eyes asked, against reason, if he had said it. As wide-eyed as I, he shook his head. He looked on the crucified Jesus, the feet of whom Lilly was clinging to. I looked upon the man. It had been him, indeed.
Lilly turned her gaze upwards to the face of Jesus as well. And tears of joy streamed from her eyes.
"Wonderful...how wonderful!" she cried, and smiled. "I love You!"
Then, letting go of the cross... she fell flat. The priest urgently knelt down next to her and asked her if she was OK. She could only barely open her eyes, and shake her head "no".
He stood up with great urgency. "Signore, cellulare, cellulare," he said rapidly, gesturing for a cell phone. I handed him mine from my pocket and he quickly called for paramedics who spoke "Inglese" and "Giapponese".
The priest knelt back down to Lilly, and tried to asked her some questions. She answered "yes". He gently propped her against a leg of the altar. I knelt silently and held her hand. Feeling it, she looked on it and smiled, and as the priest went about with the last rites, I didn't let go for a second.
The priest quickly knelt by her, and spoke a few words with her, and blessed her. Then he went to a small box in the corner of the chapel, withdrew a flask of oil. Coming back he quickly went through a few more prayers and gestures. Sticking his thumb into the jar he anointed her head with oil and blessed her, said a few more prayers. He withdrew a small, white host from within the Tabernacle, and fed the small wafer to my dying wife. He blessed her once more, and these rites which I had hoped would not come were complete.
He stood up briefly, and told the congregation what had happened. While he was doing that, I continued to kneel next to Lilly. It was really happening. She was dying. I teared up, and my tired, wrinkled arms wrapped around my dear, sweet saint.
Lilly dryly chuckled through her tears, and her pale face blushed.
"Hisao!"
Our faces turned to the door, then, as the horns of the ambulance blared outside the small, stone chapel, and as 5 or 6 Italian paramedics in large, orange vestments walked in, checked my wife's vitals - including eyesight - and carried her out on a gurney as quietly and cleanly away from the small chapel as a team of six people could. And, as we had gotten a rental, I hobbled over to my car and followed the ambulance to Benevento.
I arrived just as they were unloading her from the ambulance at the hospital. Knowing who I was, they told me what we'd already known, that she was dying, but she was still here. So I came to her.
My dear sweet angel could not have have looked more beautiful. Even in the shade of the hospital her white face and her deep blue eyes shimmered and danced joyfully.
I nuzzled her soft cheek with my fingers. She reached out and held my hand, tenderly, looked up at me, and spoke softly:
"...I'm going home."
My eyes glistened with tears. So did hers.
"Hisao-kun... I'm going to miss you."
"...I will... too... my saint..."
"We
will see each other again soon," she choked through her tears. "
Very soon."
She tilted her head towards me, and took one last look at me, and smiled.
"I am glad I saw you even once," she said, as almost a final goodbye.
We held each others' hands for a few more minutes, savoring our last moments together on Earth.
At last, she reached out her arm for my face, and felt all of the wrinkles and lines of it one last time. I stroked her chin, kissed her, and her beautiful blue eyes closed for the last time.