Last October in Genzano, families and friends from the Fede e Luce communities across central Italy (Kimata) gathered with experts to examine the provisions and technical details of the After Us law in a training day titled Setting Sail!
So it seems paradoxical, but as I listened to the speakers lay out their careful explanations, I kept thinking about a Copernican revolution. Law 112/2016 places the person with disability at its center. It recognizes that such a person cannot be uprooted overnight and moved into an institution far from the social fabric in which they live, with all the continuity of their constructed life severed. What this law protects is not mere survival, but relational, emotional, and joyful living.
It speaks of living spaces that feel safe—spaces designed with rationality and beauty rather than institutional austerity, places that appeal not just to feng shui enthusiasts but to our young people. It talks about integration plans tailored to each person. And so much more. This law should give us parents the chance to shape what will safeguard our children after we are gone.
Will there be obstacles? Of course. The mechanisms are still finding their footing, and solutions won't materialize on their own. Yet at least it is solid ground beneath our feet as we climb ever upward. In these early stages, we can voice our doubts to remarkable people—generous, willing to answer our questions.
That atmosphere of trust ran through every moment of the training sessions. But the real voice belongs to them—our vital, irreplaceable young people, and their witness.
What struck me most was hearing about the experience of the Fede e Luce community in Messina. During their residential stays, the mothers care for one another's children, setting aside their own. This practice of care opens the heart, shifts one's attention, and plants unexpected possibilities in both those who give and those who receive. Necessary relationships grow from it, and from those, virtuous circles form. We learn what matters. Once again: something tailored to measure.
As a child I asked my mother—a seamstress—who would dress me when she was gone. She told me that she always would. She kept that promise. For the past year I have been rediscovering an extraordinary wardrobe she left behind, carefully tended, endlessly surprising me. Every piece fits perfectly—and now young friends breathe new life into these beautiful things. We return, again, to that virtuous circle of care: in our present, and in the after.
Nicla Bettazzi, 2018