The Healing Journey

March 22, 2026

Decades later, Vinny still remembered the years he spent with his Italian immigrant grandmother, and even though he couldn’t understand all that she said … and vice versa, they were quite the couple.

He would spend the afternoon on the kitchen floor in front of the stove with his crayons and coloring book, while she baked two sweet potatoes — one for each of them. She sat in the rocking chair nearby, praying the rosary. Every day. Years later, after getting into his share of adolescent trouble, he was convinced the only thing that saved him were all those rosaries. And now she was in Heaven.

He even prayed now, so something must have rubbed off although it was more likely grace that he received through her prayers.

Then, one day while he was at Mass, a woman came up to him and, without speaking, handed him a rosary. He smiled and took it and didn’t have a chance to say anything before she walked away.

He put the beads in his jacket pocket and forgot about them until a week later when he was driving by the cemetery and that familiar still small voice said, “Go visit your grandmother.” It had been a while, but he found her grave with little trouble and said a few prayers. He cleared away some debris, and as he rose to leave, he heard that voice again, which reminded him of the rosary in his pocket. He took them out and wrapped them around the statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and said, “These must have been meant for you. Please pray a rosary for me.”
©J Pisani

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