Stefano Di Franco (1960-2015), known to everyone as Spilungo, formed deep bonds throughout his life with many people—disabled and not, young and old, parents and children—in his community at Fede e Luce in Rome (Sant'Anna), at the Arca in Ciampino, and through his work with the Forest Service and Civil Protection. For Fede e Luce, he held many roles: community coordinator and later coordinator of the Kimata province (covering central Italy, Greece, and Cyprus). Ombre e Luci devoted an entire issue and a special page to him.
«He hadn't told us anything about it. When we got back from the mountains in August, he came by one evening with my family and brought us Mirtilla—three months old, tucked into a tiny bag. We were pretty taken aback at first, but then we fell in love with her.» That's how Roberta describes the Di Franco family's first encounter with Mirtilla, a Pinscher puppy that Stefano, our unforgettable Captain, had decided to bring home in the summer of 2013, not yet knowing what a precious gift she would become.
The odd couple—the gentle giant and the pocket-sized dog—was unmistakable. Stefano had chosen her as his companion, and from puppyhood she'd grown used to following him everywhere: microscopic, tucked into the pocket of a sweatshirt; larger, nestled in a carrier; finally grown, on a leash or in a bag (with a warm sweater on cold days). We all knew that if Stefano had ever had a girlfriend, a wife, or children, he would certainly have brought them to Fede e Luce, and the same held true for Mirtilla. In the two years she lived with the Captain, she met and spent time with countless young people, families, and friends, attended meetings, retreats, discernment sessions, and elections, adding her own peculiar, wordless tenderness to the undeniable magnetism Stefano radiated.
There was no place they didn't go together. Mirtilla would slip in—hidden in a backpack perhaps—even where dogs normally aren't allowed (she even made it into the hospital during one of Stefano's final stays!). Nothing and no one could stop them, nothing could stop Stefano (though once at a spa during a Fede e Luce retreat, they were asked to leave the pools; when I texted him, he wrote back: "we're at the spa now… but I can't go in with Mirtilla").
The bond between Stefano and Mirtilla was so visible that a hint of jealousy began to surface here and there at Fede e Luce, especially among those usually at the center of the Captain's attention—Pietro Bigari above all. It took some care to help the two of them—the awkward giant and the little pup—find their footing, but soon enough Pietro and "Martilla" learned to know each other and look after one another, sharing meals and cuddles, as many photographs show.
But beyond all the talk about animal therapy and the healing power of animals on the human heart, dogs are and remain a gift to those who choose to welcome them. For the Di Franco family today, Mirtilla is an extended caress from Stefano—a piece of the Captain still here with us. Curled in the crook of his knee until that Sunday afternoon of November 22, 2015, the Feast of Christ the King, when Spilu left us, Mirtilla hadn't entered Stefano's life by chance. She walked with him through the hardest stretch of the climb. And like Mirtilla, no dog enters its master's life by accident—not if the master is willing, as Stefano was, to let his days be turned upside down and make a little room on the couch.