“Sammy taught us to see life as a gift, guiding us every day with his gaze.” A year after her son’s death, Laura Lucchin speaks tenderly and determinedly of an absence that is not emptiness, but light. The letters Sammy wrote over the years, alongside the ongoing affection surrounding the family and the research being conducted in his name, are all signs of his enduring presence. “We miss his voice, his energy, but the seeds he planted blossom around us every day.”
What do the letters that Sammy had written over the years, which you found, represent?
Those letters, especially what has since become known as his “spiritual testament” were two distinct yet closely linked gifts for us. The letters reflect his everyday life, offering insight into his communication style, thought processes, and relationships with others. His “testament”, on the other hand, came as a revelation.
We knew that Sammy had a devout faith and a deep connection with God, which he embraced as a natural part of life. Yet these words revealed an even greater serenity and preparedness.
In reading his personal letters to me and his father, we gained a deeper understanding of his perspective on life. Although he was aware that he wasn’t ready, he was prepared. He felt that everything he had done was not for himself, but for others. He saw life as a passage, a journey towards true life.
Had this awareness matured over time?
He had been aware of his condition since childhood. We never hid anything from him; we were always honest with him, tailoring our words to his age. As he grew up, he was made fully aware of everything. In fact, he would often say that he had been aware of it all along. He knew what progeria was and what it entailed, yet he lived with it with a sense of clarity and sincerity that was never dramatic.
After Sammy’s death, you chose silence. Has that silence changed a year later?
It is still deafening. Before, with Sammy, the house buzzed with life: there was energy, dialogue and movement. We talked about everything every day, and he maintained a steady physical relationship with us, exchanging hugs, caresses and sweet words that were requested by both sides. All of this is now missing, and we have to live with that absence every day.
But that void is now filled by the affection of the people who have always been close to us.
Following Sammy’s death, we stopped to regain our balance, but we were never alone. The love that Sammy gave us is being returned to us, increased tenfold.
Among the many testimonials received this year, is there an episode, a gesture or a word that touched you in particular?
Many. We received messages, letters and emails from people telling us how Sammy had changed their lives, broadened their horizons and taught them to see things differently.
Many still thank him today for the help he gave them, even if they didn’t realise it at the time. Through those testimonials, we discovered how many meaningful relationships he had built.
We don’t know how he managed it, given that there are only 24 hours in a day, yet he still found time to nurture hundreds of genuine relationships. He was never superficial; he devoted time and attention to listening to each person. For him, relationships were everything.
What does it mean to be “Sammy’s eyes” in the world?
He gave me so much that I feel compelled to continue what he started. I try to do so in his style and using his approach. The most important project, the one he cared about the most, is research. As a researcher himself, he knew how essential it was for others, even though there was no hope for him in that respect.
When we told him to rest, he would reply, “Not now. I have no time. Later.” He probably knew his time was running out.
He did it for others, and we are continuing that work. Everyone has taken up his mantle: the association, the research groups in Boston and Bologna. Outreach and fundraising remain essential because research can only continue if there are sufficient resources.
There is talk of the possibility of a cause for beatification.
This touches us deeply because Sammy will always be our son first and foremost. We see him with earthly eyes and with the concrete affection of parents. If it ever happens, it will be divine will. I still feel very connected to the physical world. I don’t have the same awareness as Sammy, even though I am trying to learn more every day. Of course, we are pleased — it means that he sowed so much love, and that love continues to flourish. But the rest belongs to God alone.
