My name is Matthew Ferrer.

I’m 32 years old.

And what I’m going to tell you today has cost me 15 years of silence.

Not because anyone asked me to stay quiet, but because there are experiences so profound, so sacred that speaking about them feels like breaking an invisible pact with the divine.

But now after his beatification and seeing how millions of people around the world seek to know who Carlo Acutis really was, I feel the time has come to share what I lived alongside him.

I wasn’t a believer.

In fact, I was the opposite.

I considered myself a skeptic, a rationalist, someone who trusted only in what I could see, touch, and prove scientifically.

To me, religion was an emotional crutch for those who couldn’t face reality as it is, hard, cold, without transcendental purpose.

And then I met Carlo.

For four years, I worked with him on his most important project, cataloging all the eucharistic miracles of the world on a website.

I was the designer, the technician, the one who made everything work digitally.

Carlo was the mind, the heart, the unshakable faith behind every line of code we wrote.

What began as a simple freelance job to help a neighbor ended up becoming the most transformative experience of my life.

I saw things, brother.

I saw things that have no logical explanation.

I witnessed moments that defy all scientific understanding.

And the most impactful of all was being by his side during his final weeks of life when fulminant leukemia was consuming him.

But his faith shown with an intensity that illuminated the entire hospital room.

Today I’m going to tell you exactly what happened.

Not the facts you can read in his official biography.

I’m going to tell you what I saw with my own eyes.

It all began in the summer of 2002.

I was 17 years old and had just finished high school in Milan.

I lived with my family in an apartment building in the Ojiaro neighborhood, a working-class area where life passed between work, soccer, and meetings at local bars.

My father was a mechanic, my mother worked in a textile factory, and I dreamed of studying computer engineering at the Polytechnic University.

I spent most of my free time in front of the computer designing basic websites for small neighborhood businesses.

It was my way of earning extra money and perfecting my skills.

One July afternoon, as I was going down the building stairs with my laptop under my arm, I ran into an elegant woman coming up carrying grocery bags.

It was Antonia Salano, who had just moved into the third floor apartment with her family.

Good morning, she greeted me with a kind smile.

Let me help you, I said, taking some bags.

As we went up together, she asked what I did.

When I mentioned web design, her eyes lit up.

What a coincidence, she said.

My son Carlo is working on a digital project and needs technical help.

He’s only 11 years old, but he’s very advanced for his age.

He’s cataloging Eucharistic miracles from around the world.

I remember thinking, “Another religious kid with a boring school project, but I needed the money and work was work.

” “Sure, I can take a look,” I responded without much enthusiasm.

2 days later, I was sitting in the accutusano living room, waiting to meet this child prodigy.

“The apartment was bright, tidy, with crucifixes on the walls and family photos everywhere.

” Then Carlo entered.

a thin boy with messy brown hair, lively eyes, and a smile that lit up the entire room.

“Hi, Matthew,” he said, shaking my hand with surprising firmness for his age.

“My mom told me, “You’re a web designer.

Thanks for coming.

” I was surprised by his maturity.

He didn’t talk like an 11-year-old kid.

His vocabulary was rich, his tone respectful, but confident.

He showed me his project on an already outdated computer.

It was a disorganized collection of word documents, scanned photos, and handwritten notes about supposed Eucharistic miracles.

Lanciano, Bulsana, Buenos, Ires, Amsterdam, dozens of cases documented with obsessive meticulousness.

I want everyone in the world to access this information, Carlo explained to me with passion.

People don’t know that Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist.

These miracles prove it.

If we create a professional website, we can evangelize through the internet.

I remember thinking, “This kid is completely indoctrinated.

” But there was something in his conviction, in his genuine enthusiasm that [clears throat] intrigued me.

“Okay,” I said.

“I can help you organize all this into a functional website.

” During the following weeks, we met three times a week at his apartment.

I’d arrive with my laptop.

Carlo had all his materials prepared.

We worked together for two or three hours.

He researched.

I designed.

But what fascinated me wasn’t the project itself.

But Carlo, this 11-year-old kid, quoted Vatican documents from memory.

He knew church history better than any priest I’d ever known.

And he spoke about theology with a depth that left me perplexed.

Matthew,” he’d say while I programmed.

“Do you believe in God?” I avoided answering directly.

“I don’t know, Carlo.

I suppose if there were a God, there’d be more evidence.

” He laughed softly.

“The evidence is everywhere.

You just need to open your eyes.

These eucharistic miracles are scientific evidence.

There are medical analyses, forensic studies, documented testimonies.

” One August afternoon while we worked on the Latin American miracles section, Carlo told me about the Buenosire case from 1996.

A priest had found a consecrated host thrown on the floor.

He put it in water to dissolve it as is customary.

But instead of dissolving, the host began to bleed.

Years later, a cardiologist analyzed a sample of the tissue and discovered it was living human heart muscle with intact white blood cells.

Impossible from a scientific standpoint considering the sample was years old.

That must be a fraud, I responded automatically.

Carlo looked at me with those penetrating eyes that seem to see beyond my rational defenses.

That’s why I’m documenting everything with verifiable sources, Matthew.

Because I know people like you need proof, and God in his infinite mercy gives them to us.

That night I returned to my apartment disturbed.

I started investigating on my own.

The following months were strange for me.

Officially I remained agnostic, even atheist.

I argued with Carlo about theology, presented him scientific arguments against faith, questioned every miracle we documented.

But something was changing inside me.

Carlo never got upset with my objections.

On the contrary, he received them with enthusiasm.

I love that you question me.

He’d say, “It means you’re thinking, that you’re searching for truth, and whoever genuinely seeks truth always ends up finding God because God is truth.

” What impacted me most was his coherence.

Carlo didn’t just talk about faith, he lived it.

Every morning before school, he attended mass.

His mother told me he never missed, not even when he was sick.

After mass, he spent time in Eucharistic adoration, an 11-year-old kid, when other kids his age were playing video games or watching television.

One day, I asked him directly, “Carlo, don’t you get bored going to mass everyday?” He looked at me as if I’d asked the most absurd question in the world.

“Bored,” he said.

“Matthew, I’m going to meet Jesus.

I’m going to receive God himself in my body through the Eucharist.

How could I be bored by that? It’s the most incredible thing that exists.

Imagine you could meet the creator of the universe face to face every day.

Would you do it or would you prefer to stay sleeping? His logic was irrefutable, at least from his belief system.

But what really shook me was an incident that occurred in October 2003.

We’d been working intensely on the European miracles section of the website.

Carlo was especially excited because we’d gotten highresolution photographs of the Lanciano miracle, where a host had literally turned into flesh and wine into blood in the 8th century, and modern scientific analyses confirmed it was human heart tissue and typeAB blood.

That afternoon, after uploading all the material to the server, Carlo closed his computer and looked at me seriously.

Matthew, he said, there’s something I need to tell you.

I know you don’t believe in God, and I respect that, but I want to ask you a favor.

I was confused.

Sure, Carlo.

What do you need? I want you to come with me to mass tomorrow.

Just once.

I’m not asking you to pray or receive communion.

Just come and observe.

See with your own eyes what happens during consecration.

I tried to refuse, but there was something in his gaze.

An urgency I hadn’t seen before.

Okay, I finally accepted.

I’ll go.

The next morning, I found myself entering the Santa Maria Cigrada Church in Milan.

It was early, barely 700 a.

m.

The church was almost empty, just some elderly people and Carlo with his mother.

I sat in the last pew feeling completely out of place.

I watched Carlo throughout the mass.

His concentration was absolute.

When the moment of consecration arrived, when the priest raised the host and then the chalice, I saw something on Carlo’s face that left me breathless.

It was pure adoration.

His eyes shone with tears.

His expression was one of total love, complete surrender.

It wasn’t the look of an indoctrinated child fulfilling a ritual.

It was the look of someone who’s seeing something real, something beautiful beyond all description.

When mass ended and we left, Carlo asked me, “What did you feel?” I didn’t know what to answer.

Honestly, Carlo, I didn’t feel anything special, but I saw something in you.

I saw that for you, this is absolutely real.

He smiled.

Because it is real, Matthew.

Someday you’ll see it, too.

We worked together for two more years.

In that time, the Eucharistic Miracles website became incredibly popular.

We received messages from all over the world from people who had found faith through Carlo’s project.

Priests wrote us thanking us for the educational material.

Young people like me shared conversion testimonies after reviewing the scientific evidence of the miracles.

Carlo was radiant.

We did it, Matthew.

We’re evangelizing through the internet.

But I kept resisting.

I deeply admired Carlo, his kindness, his intelligence, his dedication, but I couldn’t make the leap of faith he asked of me.

I can’t believe just because I want to believe.

I’d tell him.

I need to be sure.

And Carlo always responded with patience.

Faith isn’t the opposite of reason, Matthew.

It’s a step beyond where reason can take you.

First, you use reason to get as far as you can.

Then, you trust God for the rest of the way.

In the summer of 2005, when Carlo was 14, I noticed a change in him.

He remained cheerful, enthusiastic, dedicated to the project.

But there was a new depth in his words, a spiritual maturity that went beyond his age.

One day while we updated the Asian miracle section, he told me something that stayed engraved in me.

Matthew, you know, life is a gift, right? Every day we live is an opportunity to get closer to God and help others do the same.

We’re not here by chance.

We’re here with a purpose, and my purpose is to make people fall in love with the Eucharist.

Like, I’m in love with it.

I thought it was just one of his usual spiritual speeches.

I didn’t imagine they were prophetic words.

In March 2006, Carlos started feeling ill.

At first, we thought it was flu, but when the fever didn’t subside and other symptoms appeared, his parents took him to the hospital.

The diagnosis came like lightning.

acute promyalitic leukemia, M3 form, one of the most aggressive.

I remember the day Antonia called to tell me.

Her voice was broken but firm.

Matthew, Carlo is in the hospital.

He has leukemia.

The doctors say it’s very serious.

He wants to see you.

I felt like the ground opened beneath my feet.

Carlo, the kindest, purest kid I’d known.

How was it possible? I went to San Gerardo Hospital in Monza that same afternoon.

The journey from the entrance to his room was the longest of my life.

When I entered room 104, Carlo was lying in the hospital bed, pale with an IV in his arm.

But when he saw me, he smiled, that smile he always had, even now.

“Hi, Matthew,” he said with a weak voice.

“Don’t make that face.

I’m not dead yet.

” I sat next to his bed, not knowing what to say.

Carlo, I’m sorry.

I didn’t know.

He shook his head.

Don’t apologize.

This is part of the plan.

I don’t completely understand it yet, but I trust that God knows what he’s doing.

The plan, I repeated with bitterness.

What kind of plan includes giving leukemia to a 15-year-old kid? A good kid? A kid who dedicates his life to serving God? Carlo looked at me with those wise eyes that didn’t match his age.

Matthew, he responded calmly.

Holiness isn’t measured in years lived, but in love given.

If God calls me now, it means my mission here is complete.

And you know what? I’m at peace with that.

I spent the following weeks visiting Carlo almost every day.

The doctors did everything possible, but the leukemia advanced rapidly.

I saw that extraordinary kid face pain, weakness, fear of death with a serenity that defied all logic.

He never complained, never asked, “Why me?” Instead, he offered his suffering.

“This is for the Pope,” he’d tell me.

“For the church, for young people who are losing faith, for you, Matthew.

” One afternoon, when he was especially weak, he took my hand and said, “Promise me something.

anything, Carlo.

Promise you’ll finish the website, that you’ll keep sharing the eukaristic miracles, that you won’t let my work be lost.

” I promised him through tears.

Then Carlos smiled.

“Good, because from heaven, I’m going to keep helping you.

Saints don’t stop working when they die, Matthew.

They just change offices.

” Despite my pain, I couldn’t help but laugh at his joke.

On October 12th, 2006, I received the call.

All I feared.

Antonia told me between sobs, “Matthew, come quickly.

Carlo is in his final hours.

” I ran to the hospital.

When I arrived at the room, Carlo was conscious, but very weak.

His parents were on each side of the bed.

A priest had just given him anointing of the sick.

I approached and Carlo turned his head toward me.

“You came?” he whispered.

“Of course I came,” I responded, squeezing his hand.

Carlo, I need to tell you something.

I’ve always admired your faith, and I think I think you were right about God, about everything.

His eyes lit up with one last spark of joy.

I knew it, Matthew.

I knew it.

Now you just need to take that final step.

Trust him.

Then something extraordinary happened.

Carlo looked up toward a point on the ceiling that none of us could see.

His face completely transformed.

The pain disappeared, an absolute peace, an indescribable joy reflected in his features.

“Mom, Dad,” he whispered.

“Heaven is opening.

” Those were his last words.

He closed his eyes with a smile on his lips and left.

But I swear, brother, I swear on everything I have that in that moment, I felt something in that room.

A presence, a peace that has no rational explanation.

The air itself seemed lighter, as if something divine had entered to take Carlo home.

I left the hospital that dawn converted into another person.

The skeptic who had entered four years ago to meet a religious kid no longer existed.

In his place remained a man who had witnessed something greater than himself, something science can’t measure, but the heart recognizes as true.

Since then, I’ve continued Carlo’s work.

The Eucharistic Miracles website remains active now with over 150 documented cases.

I’ve received thousands of messages from people whose lives changed after knowing Carlo’s story.

And I myself finally took that step he always asked of me.

I was baptized 2 years after his death because Carlo was right.

Faith doesn’t eliminate reason.

It simply completes it.

It’s been 19 years since that dawn on October 12th, 2006 when I saw Carlo Audis depart to heaven.

19 years carrying the weight and privilege of having been by his side in his final moments.

And Carlo Acutis will be officially canonized as a saint in April 2025.

His promise came true from heaven.

He kept helping me.

He kept helping millions.

And his message remains the same.

All are born as originals, but many die as copies.

Don’t be a copy, brother.