Article published on ilchiostro.it
101 years after his death, the profound meaning and testimony of faith of his birth into Heaven
by Alessandro Greco
It's been 101 years since July 4, 1925, the day of Pier Giorgio Frassati's death. Exactly two years ago, the centenary year began, at the end of which the young man from Turin was canonized by Pope Leo XIV. For many years, the date of July 4th has held a special significance for many, those connected to Pier Giorgio and his legacy as a young man of his time, but also a little bit of our own.
How significant is the Catholic Church's choice to remember the saints on the day of their death! We read from the documents of the Council: "On the birthday of the saints, the Church proclaims the paschal mystery accomplished in them, who suffered with Christ and are glorified with him; she proposes to the faithful their examples, which draw all to the Father through Christ; and she implores God's benefits through their merits." (Sacrosanctum Concilium, 104). And Pier Giorgio's death tells us so much, it questions us, challenges us, and urges us toward an eschatological perspective rooted in our lives. For if it is true that we all die, we can die in very different ways, focusing on different horizons.
Pier Giorgio spent his last days in his home at Corso Galileo Ferraris 70. Thanks to the pages of his sister Luciana's book, Una vita mai spenta, we can imagine Pier Giorgio during his last seven days, struggling with the symptoms of a fulminant polio that was rapidly undermining his body. Despite the intense pain, Pier Giorgio constantly tried to remain inconspicuous, wanting his loved ones to remain focused on his dying grandmother, for he feared "causing a disturbance." Furthermore, the initial overly optimistic assessments expressed by his doctor prevented his family from grasping the true gravity of the young man's situation. The last time he crossed the threshold of his home was on June 30th, when he returned from a boat trip on the Po River unusually exhausted and supported by a cane. The following day, July 1st, his grandmother died in an adjacent room; On July 3rd, the relatives moved to Pollone for the funeral, with the exception of Adelaide, who, exhausted by the ordeal and the loss of her mother, remained in Turin with Pier Giorgio. It was on that already painful day that the family learned the true extent of his medical condition.
At that point, the family took urgent action to save him: Turin's most illustrious specialists were called to his bedside, but all efforts were in vain. Pier Giorgio's body was undergoing a progressive and unstoppable paralysis. Among the last gestures he made before dying, a memorable one was the note, written with immense effort and addressed to a brother of the San Vincenzo friar; the note contained medical and financial information for assisting two of his needy relatives, specifically mentioned by name. Furthermore, the volume on the life of Saint Catherine of Siena, the last reading Pier Giorgio had attempted, remained open on the bedside table.
And so Pier Giorgio's death is as much a testimony of faith as his life. The memorial plaque on the wall of his home concludes with the words, "the joy of his death." At the end of a life freely given because freely received, death is a joyful death, because it feels like reunion. Pier Giorgio, after all, confided to a friend: "The day I die will be the most beautiful day of my life."