Risposare in Pace

Bruno Lombardi, posing for me, November, 2018

I find it only fair to warn you.  If you come to Assisi, you will be walking excessively and there will never be a time that you will not be faced with a steep incline or a staircase consisting of no less than fifty cobble-stoned steps.  There's no way around it.  You step outside, you're doomed to a calorie-burner.  The good side of that is that you can eat so many more calories each day. The bad side is the reality of what goes down, also comes up. Even the "flat" surfaces of Assisi are difficult to traverse. Balance and agility are in high demand. With all of this in mind, this  time last year I watched one of my "neighbors" with wonder and admiration on many a November day.

Impeccably dressed from head to foot, dignified and confident, my mystery man of indeterminate age, left the sweet entrance to his home for solo morning strolls down the Via Porta Perlici.  Armed with a set of crutches, he made his way, slowly, rounding the corner and proceeding on the bumpy road. He was taking what the Italians call a "passeggiata".  At the time, my own elderly father was recovering from a broken hip, one that would determine the course of the remainder of his life.  I was totally absorbed as I watched him, thinking of how very different his life seemed to be from that of my parent.  Was he a widower?  Did his wife send him out or did he do so on his own accord?  I knew nothing and certainly was not in the position to make any inquiries.  I would not have the faintest idea of how to say "excuse me sir, but what is your story?" so I just wondered and watched.

One day, I boldly asked if he might pose for a photo and he kindly obliged.  Little did I know at the time, that the photo would become part of a later story.

Returning to Assisi, I realize that by the end of the month, I will have spent three-plus months of my life here.  That certainly isn't a great deal but it has allowed for some keen observations and surely has rewarded me with some very nice friendships and some of the best memories.  I think I notice more pieces of routine life than the average "tourist" and have been told more than once that I am more a "resident" than a tourist.  My daily exchanges with the people in my adopted neighborhood give me a great sense of belonging and I truly do care about all of them. So, when days passed and there was no sign of the elegant gentleman, I started to wonder if and when I would see him again.

A little, handwritten note appeared on the door to his home.  His mailbox was taped over and in Italian, the evidence became clear.  "Lombardi" was no longer in residence.  Did he relocate? Was he thrown out by a relative?  Perhaps he wasn't as nice a person as he had appeared to be. I was disappointed.  And then, I did what the locals do.  I stopped and looked at the obituary notices on the board at the end of the street.  And there, in full-view was the photo and the death notice of who I now know as Bruno Lombardi, taken from this world on November 24th.  It was his funeral mass that we had wondered about as we walked by San Rufino one afternoon, having seen the parking lot filled. and the hearse parked at the massive front door.

I never actually met Bruno Lombardi.  I only exchanged a few words with him and we both paused long enough for me to take his photo. But, for the time that I "knew" him, I was inspired and at the same time comforted in the thought that dressing up and showing up on the street where you live is in itself, the art of living.

Thank you for your time, and rest in peace Sr. Lombardi.