His name is Massimo. He is seventeen years old, profoundly handicapped from birth. Many treatments. Many attempts. Many hopes. Often the results have been in vain. His is a story like so many others.
Yet he is a lively, intelligent boy who can and wants to communicate his moods and feelings to those around him—to us, his parents, first of all. We see and live alongside him his emotions, his likes and dislikes, the things that bring him joy.
One in particular stands out, stronger than the rest: Massimo feels an irresistible pull toward the Church. Always—from the time he was small and needed someone to help him walk, he would be brought before the altar, and there, unmistakably, he would show his joy.
Even now, attuned to the atmosphere, the music, the singing, the people gathered near him, Massimo is at peace. He never wants to leave. He asks for it with determination, listens with full attention, and lives those moments with deep reverence—with his whole self.
In issue 21 of "Insieme" there was talk of recognizing the desires of our children and honoring them—"love is not enough," it was said. But never have parental love and a child's will been so aligned as they are with Massimo. He has taught us a new way forward. A sure antidote to despair. A path to serenity and hope.
Is he not, in this simple yet profound way, closer to Truth than we are—or than so many of the so-called "normal" among us?
Rossana Palombi, 1979