And if this channel has been a companion to you, if these stories have met you in the middle of nights when you needed something to meet you, I want to ask you directly and without apology to consider leaving a super thanks.
What you give, whatever it is, whatever amount makes sense for where you are right now goes directly into the ability to keep doing this, to keep gathering these stories, to keep holding them carefully and bringing them to you.
This is not a large operation.
It is one person carrying something he was given by his son trying to pass it on with the same faithfulness it was passed to him.
Your support is what makes that possible.
I mean that without exaggeration and without performance.
It is simply true.
Share this with someone if you feel it belongs with them.
Not because a video needs views.
I don’t think Carlo would have cared about that.
Not even slightly.
But because you might be someone else’s passage today, you might be the way something reaches a person who has been keeping their door shut for a very long time.
That matters.
Carlo knew it mattered.
He spent his whole short life which was not short in any way that counts.
Acting on the understanding that the good that reaches you is reaching for someone else.
I’ll tell you one more thing before I go.
The morning after the first night, I woke at 3:33.
I finally told Carlo.
We were in the kitchen.
He was having toast.
I said as casually as I could manage that I had tried what he suggested.
He looked at me.
He didn’t ask what happened.
He didn’t need to.
He just nodded once with that expression he had.
Not triumphant, not smug, not the expression of someone who was right and wanted credit for being right.
The expression of someone who had given you something and was simply relieved that it had reached you.
He picked up his toast and looked out the window.
Good, he said.
Just that, good.
And he meant it with his whole self in the way that Carlo meant everything.
completely without remainder with nothing held back for any other purpose.
That’s the man my son was.
That’s the 15 years I was given.
And none of it, not one morning, not one night at 3:33, not one rosary pressed into a stranger’s hand, none of it was wasted.
He made sure of that.
He made sure of it in advance with the patience and the certainty of someone who already knew how the story ended and spent every day making sure that the people around him would be okay when they got there.
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