Before passing away, Pope Francis made one final act of compassion—donating €200,000 of his personal funds to prisoners at Rome’s Regina Coeli prison.
The donation, revealed by Auxiliary Bishop of Rome Benoni Ambarus, came just days after the Pope made an unannounced visit to the overcrowded jail, one of Italy’s most well-known prisons.
The Pope, frail and visibly exhausted, visited the prison during Holy Week, keeping with his tradition of connecting with inmates every Easter. He spent about half an hour with a group of 70 prisoners, offering prayers and warm words. His visit, as brief as it was, had a lasting impact—not just for the gesture itself but for the powerful message it carried.
Following the Pope’s death, Bishop Ambarus shared that the Pope had quietly arranged the donation during that final visit. When Ambarus had asked if a financial contribution could be made to support the needs of prisoners, Francis responded that official funds had run out. But he then added that he had something left in his personal account—and he would use it to help. Days later, €200,000 was sent from his own savings.
This donation was more than a symbolic gesture. Regina Coeli prison, located in Rome’s Trastevere neighborhood, houses around 1,100 inmates—almost double its intended capacity. Conditions are difficult, and many prisoners rely entirely on donations for even basic items like clothing or shoes. State support covers only the most essential needs, leaving many inmates vulnerable and forgotten.
Ambarus reflected on the emotional weight of the Pope’s final visit. He remembered a man who could barely walk but still insisted on being present for the prisoners. “He dragged himself along for them,” the bishop recalled. “He gave them his last belongings.”
Throughout his 12-year papacy, Pope Francis regularly visited prisons, especially during Holy Week. He believed in bringing attention to the often-ignored world behind bars and consistently reminded society of the humanity of prisoners. His visits weren’t just about offering blessings—they were moments of solidarity and care for people whom society often forgets.
In one conversation with Ambarus, a prisoner admitted that no one had ever come to see him. That statement, the bishop said, stayed with him. For Francis, presence was everything—just showing up mattered.
Now, in death, the Pope’s final act remains a testament to the life he lived: one of humility, compassion, and deep concern for the marginalized. His personal gift to the prisoners of Regina Coeli speaks louder than words—a final offering from a man who never stopped giving.