Domenico Mondrone - Mama! Why Did You Kill Us?

MAMA!
WHY DID YOU
KILL US?

By

Domenico Mondrone

Translated from the Italian original's
Third Edition by

Dino Soria

Copyright 1970 by The Reparation Society of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

Retypeset and republished in 1998 by TAN Books and Publishers, Inc. by permission of The Reparation Society of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Inc., The Fatima House, 8006 Caliburn Court, Pasadena, Maryland 21122.

ISBN 0-89555-616-2

Library of Congress Catalog Card No.: 67-62523

TAN Books
Charlotte, North Carolina
www.TANBooks.com
1998

Dedicated to

THE IMMACULATE HEART OF MARY

May she, who once fled from Palestine to save the Infant Jesus from the swords of Herod's henchmen, preserve her dear daughterswho today, together with the entire human race, have been formally consecrated to her Immaculate Heartfrom having their own offspring slain through abortion by the unconscious emissaries of Satanthe Archmurderer and Father of Lies. (Cf. John 8:44).

Truth?

Telepathy?

Hallucination?

Psychic reaction from remorse?

One of the many avenues of Divine Grace?

Perhaps a little of each.

At all events, what we are about to narrate touches on a present and agonizing problem.

D. M.

Exactly ten years later, the time set by the person who entrusted me with her last will, I undertake to fulfill an obligation with the same trepidation with which I accepted it one icy evening in December, 1945.

For obvious reasons, due to the delicacy of the matter, I am forced to withhold the exact location and any hint that might identify the people involved in the events narrated.

D. M.

Rome, 1955

DECEMBER, 1945

Returning earlier than usual from a short walk, I received a phone call from someone who would not give his name. To identify himself, the caller mentioned meeting me some years before.

"Mother is critically ill," he said. "Someone spoke to her about you. She says she would appreciate it very much if you could come to see her."

I couldn't figure out the reason for the caution and secrecy, but twenty minutes later I was at the bedside of the sick woman.

She made a dreadful impression on me. She was very pale and worn. Her eyes were large, still charming but heavy with suffering. She wore a white woolen cap on her head. Her movements were slow and tired. She greeted me in a low but grateful voice. Then the family withdrew and I was left alone with her.

"Father, do you recognize me?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"I think I have changed a great deal."

"Not as much as you think, so as to be unrecognizable. Now tell me, what's on your mind? I am here to help you."

"Can you give me all the time I need?"

"My one wish is to help you in any way I can."

"I know, but you are a priest and have a schedule."

"My schedule is the least of my worries."

"Thank you, Father. As you see, I am approaching the end. I would like to go to Confession."

"I shall be glad to hear you. Don't tire yourself, however. I'll do my best to help you."

I drew closer, murmured a brief prayer from the Ritual, made the Sign of the Cross over her and listened attentively. Her mind was perfectly clear and orderly...

After a short time she paused. "Father, may I interrupt for a moment?"

"Surely. Do you need something?"

She nodded and touched a small pear-shaped electric bell close to her hand. A nun who was a nurse came immediately with a hypodermic needle prepared for a necessary injection.

I waited for a few minutes in an adjoining sitting room and then returned. My task would soon be completed.

After the Confession the patient asked: "And now, what else should be done?"

"I am glad you ask. I would suggest that you be anointed and receive Holy Viaticum tomorrow. If you prefer your Pastor for this, I can stop and see him on my way home."

"No, I would rather have you. But why should we wait until tomorrow morning? Couldn't it be done this evening?"

"Certainly."

Again she touched the bell, and this time, with the Sister came a young woman carrying a baby girl. Then her husband and a boy of five or six entered the room.

"Sister, I have told Father to do everything this evening. What do you say; and what do you all say?"

The daughter and her husband looked at each other. Their eyes filled with tears and they could not speak. But the Sister spoke up: "I think this is God's inspiration. Do so by all means. Besides, it will help you to have a quiet night."

"So, Father, I am in your hands."

I went to the nearby church which the pastor was preparing to close for the night. There I procured a surplice, a two-sided stole, the holy oils, holy water, a Ritual and a burse with the Blessed Sacrament. Again I put on my overcoat and in a few minutes I was back at the bedside.

Meanwhile the Sister had converted the chest near the bed into a little altar, neat and devotional, and even with flowers, which looked to me like a miracle of beauty.

Before receiving the Last Sacraments, the sick woman expressed a desire to speak to me again in private. When all had withdrawn, from a small plastic bag she drew a stiff, bulky envelope, handed it to me and said:

"This is the last favor I am asking of you. Will you promise me to do what I am going to ask you?"

"What is it?"

"My last wishes are here."

"But we are not supposed to be executors of wills."

"It is not that," she assured me with a slight smile. "It is the story of my wretched life, from the time I was a bride up to the present. I want you to publish it ten years from now. Only be as careful as possible that no one may recognize the people mentioned in it."

"Did you write it?"

"Of course."

"Someone may recognize your style."

"Then make it unrecognizable."

"How?"

"Re-write it yourself. Perhaps I am asking too much; but it will be a work of charity. Will you promise me? I have great confidence in you."

She could see the strange hesitation on my face.

"I assure you," she continued, "there is nothing compromising. I have been thinking of doing this for years; and the more I thought of it, the more peaceful I felt. Please don't say no. You may read it tonight if you wish. And let me repeat: there is nothing compromising in it for anyone. It is something seen in the light of God, after passing through experiences and expiations which I wouldn't wish on any mother. It is something that has shortened my life. I wouldn't want the like to befall any other mother."

"Well, I'll do my best."

"Thank you!"

A slight touch of the bell brought everyone back except the two children, who had meanwhile been put to bed by their mother.

The Last Rites were administered in an atmosphere of perfect peace and serenity.

It was nearly eight o'clock. A furtive glance at my watch made the sick woman realize that I wished to leave.

"You may go, Father. I have no words sufficient to thank you. I won't keep you any longer; I feel that I am at peace with God."

"You may be sure of that," I said as I arose. "Now I'll give you my blessing and wish you good night. Should you need me tomorrow morning, don't hesitate to have me called."

"Tomorrow morning? Shall I be able to see you...?" She took my hands, held them for a moment in her fevered grasp with her eyes fixed on me in wordless gratitude, kissed them and let them go with an expressive nod of good-bye.