At Christmas [Valeriu Gafencu n.n.] was quite lively. On the night of the singers he composed a wonderful carol of the prisoners in Targu-Ocna. In the bed next to him, the archimandrite Gherasim Iscu was giving his soul. [...] That Christmas night I won't be able to forget it until the end. We walked steadily from one patient to another, taking their pulse and taking care of them.
From time to time I also looked at Valeriu. He was happy, happy inside, his eyelids left, his head bowed to his chest. He could not rest either. After I finished my job, I felt like he was calling me, asking me to go to him. He looked at me with a penetration that I had not felt before. He made the sign of the cross, then took my hand. A deep chill gripped me. He was very focused, an unusual thing for him, because in his spiritual state he could remain relaxed even in the most terrible tensions that we were given to go through. I felt like he had something to share with me.
"Ioan, you are my best friend," he told me. But not as a friend I come to you, but to ask your advice, to obey you. Do you want to hear me?
- I'm listening to you, I replied, but I don't know if I will be worthy of the confidence you show me.
Valeriu rolled his eyes and said quietly:
- I watched this night. I was waiting for the song of my carol to come. I wanted it to be very beautiful. I was singing it in myself. I distinguished him from the high heavens from which he descends. A bit difficult for me, because I do not know the musical notes and I have to do it by ear. So I was awake, lucid and clear, when suddenly I saw that I had in my hand the photo of Seth (the girl he loved). Surprised by chance, I looked up and at the head of my bed I saw the Mother of God, dressed in white, standing, alive, real. He was without The Baby. Her presence seemed material to me. The mother of the Lord was near me. I was happy. I had forgotten everything. The time seemed endless. Then she told me:
