With sadness we announce the passing of my father, who departed this life on Wednesday 13th April 2022, during the Holy week. This article is in his loving memory
Maurizio Arvasi (Parma, 21/05/1950- 13/04/2022)
“Then the other disciple who had reached the tomb first also went inside, and he saw and believed. They still did not understand the Scripture indicating that he must rise from the dead” – John 20: 8
Even during a funeral, nobody really wants to hear talking about death. We are sick and tired of talking about death and the bad, as this appears daily on the tv and in the newspapers. There are battles going on all across the world but we also experience them on our personal journey. There are people we know and love who are dying for many reasons and yet we struggle to accept human suffering and death.
I am Christian, even although I have doubts in my faith. However, even as a Christian, I can’t perceive pain as a blessing, I rather see it as a curse. Having seen my father recently pass away, following a short but very harsh fight against cancer, I am sure that there is no logical reason nor a rational explanation behind and beyond human pain and suffering. What we can do, is somehow justify or accept pain and death through love. We can live it to the end, being unable to get any answers to our questions.
God is not acting like we would, but it is also true that: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord” – Isaiah 55: 8.
Death and by extension the evil cannot “imprison” God. I believe that God is present amongst us. He exists and is working silently, under all circumstances. My family and I, we experienced a sort of “caring comfort” continuously, during the illness of my father as we experienced a serie of “favorable circumstances”. We had the impression that “an invisible hand” was, somehow, holding us and leading us through it. Throughout the dark time of his illness and also after he died, we have been literally surrounded and constantly supported by the presence and affection of friends, family, acquaintances. We have been lifted up in a way that we would have never imagine. This let us feel loved and gave us mental strenght.
“I, the Lord, have called you for a righteous purpose, I have taken you by the hand” – Isaiah 42: 6
I took the below above the day before dad passed. It is a meaningful memory to me, as it remembers how our Heavenly Father holds our hands, as we walk through an hard time.
I have seen my father suffering from a string of physical illnesses throughout his life. This was accompanied by a long period of depression, that began when I was a teenager. It wasn’t unusual for us to see him struggle emotionally or to accompany him to medical check-ups or to follow-up appointments. Over the years, he underwent through several surgical procedures. But he always fought hard and bounced back, in his weaknesses he was brave, and firm in persevering and in respecting the life he had been given.
In spring 2021 he showed mild signs of feeling unwell. The main and only symptom was, for months, an uncomfortable diarrhoea. By autumn he had lost weight but was still active and engaged in his activities.
In the beginning of January 2022, when I saw him, days after his mother (my granny) had passed, I had to admit to myself that something bad was ongoing, under the surface. He had lost his appetite and the weight’s lost was now worrisome.
On 21st January he had an emergency chest MRI. I should have flown to Edinburgh on 22nd January but, due to a prolonged bronchitis (providential plan of Fate!), I was forced to stay in Parma until early February. On 30th January we got the results and that’s when the world shuttered down for us. The diagnosis was overwhelmingly grim: stage 4 of gastro-esophageal cancer. As of today, I clearly remember how my father rolled his eyes when he heard it was a tumour.
A wicked waiting game started, as I moved back to Edin: I was unaware how the events would unfold and when the worst could happen. The phone calls to my parents became a daily routine and the prayers were incessant. So MANY people prayed over Maurizio. He was supposed to enter in the hospital on 12th March to start a chemotherapy cycle, but he caught Covid. Two nurses were coming at home a couple of times a week to administer medication. My mother, as a form of self-defence, was wrapped up in a denial phase, and was acting like dad had a flue.
On 30 March, turning point date, he was admitted to hospital. That day, after speaking with my team leader, I booked flight return tickets for 8th of April. During his first week in hospital, he still sounded responsive on the phone, with his beautiful sense of humour and his warm voice. Then I heard him fading away and I really felt out of control.
Back home, it was time to see him. Covid procedures were still in place at the hospital, so my mother sent me in her place, as it was only possible to enter the ward every other day, for 1 hour, 1 person at a time. I saw my father twice before he died, on the 10th and on the 12th of April, 1 hour each time.
These visits were special times that I will cherish forever. I remember the look on his face, the amazement when he saw me enter his room, dressed up in Covid’s protective clothing, saying and repeating: “What a lovely surprise you’ve given me, what a lovely surprise!”. I had time to hold him tight and to tell him that we loved him the way he was and that he was part of a project of love.
On 13 April, I was at home with my mother. In the afternoon we had had a friends’ visit and in the evening, we would have dinner with my father’s cousins (they were going to pick us up by car). At around 6:10 p.m., we received a call from the hospital. A doctor informed us: “Maurizio’s condition has worsened. We ask you to come here as soon as possible, in order to discuss the situation”. I remember well the shock that ran down my spine. I tried not to think and silently prayed to God: ‘I know that You are there.’ You are there for us, You are here, among us.
The rest is history: my cousins literally flew to our house and accompanied us to the hospital, where the doctor told us that my father had passed away shortly before, around 5 p.m. His heart had given out in his sleep. I can’t remember exactly what I felt at that moment, perhaps on the one hand I felt lost, on the other relieved, because his situation had become unbearable. In his last days, dad was pumped of morphine (he told me he couldn’t feel anything inside his body). He was lucid until the very end, but he was bedridden, his body was unrecognisable and was attached to a multitude of tubes.
In the aftermath of his death, my mother and myself, we did not feel alone, we pretty much felt part of a community (of friends, family, believers) who was there not only to support us but also to celebrate my father’s life.
His tumor taught me a lot about trust and resilience. I discovered a strength and an agency I could not imagine to have. I have seen the light shining through the cracks.
Jesus never sugar-coated what this life would be for us. He was honest, in fact he told us that we would face many obstacles and trials. Our bodies fail us, relationships fails us, our well-made plans too, but there is One that won’t. What I have learn so far from this very painful experience, is that “bad” and “good” are linked together in a mysterious, invisible way. Just after the struggle. comes the peace.
We have been redeemed. Humanity has been redeemed by His sacrifice, over and over again. And even when darkness seems to prevail, it won’t. Life beats death, death must not have the last word over life : this is the Easter message. Christ’s risen!
We wish you to be in peace, papà. We are grateful that you know now the perfect love, as you are close to Him, and part of His love. A piece of yourself lives in us. We love you and we are proud of you. Ciao, Capitano!
Elena Arvasi Portrait Photographer 