People keep asking Tommaso and me to speak at conferences and catechist training sessions, to offer our "contribution." I find myself wondering: what contribution, exactly?
Since Caterina came to our parish, nothing has changed in terms of her being welcomed into parish life or a catechism program. Not after our talks. Not after any of it.
Two years have passed since Caterina made her First Communion. And in all that time, there has been no parish life for her to speak of.
She came to the end-of-year weekend—we made sure of that, arranging for someone we knew to help. But nothing came of it. No one from the parish reached out afterward. No other kids invited her to things. Did Caterina's presence matter in building a group around her, people who might ask her back? It didn't seem to. What a shame.
She wasn't integrated into any parish group. No one took it upon themselves to get to know her, to make that possible someday.
Lately, I've been thinking with Tommaso: if it weren't for school, Caterina would have no social life at all.
Yes, her classmates have been wonderful—I work in schools and I know firsthand how good the inclusion efforts can be. But this year they all live far away. And no one invites her to parties, dinners, the things other girls her age do.
This is where we are now. I don't think we're alone in this.
Caterina spends her weekends at the pool or the playground, with me or Tommaso—I usually take the pool, he usually takes the park. That's it.
She goes to Mass with us. Without us, she wouldn't go.
That's how it is in our parish right now.
Every time I've gotten invitations to trainings, workshops, conferences on disability for catechists, and passed them along to everyone in our parish, barely anyone showed up.
So we're left with Fede e Luce. And yes, that's where we can finally relax—at least during services, without worrying that someone's watching us, judging the sounds Caterina makes or the way she behaves.
But I have to be honest: after nearly forty years in Fede e Luce, I've come to see that even there, the community has let us down a bit. Maybe it's because we're still thought of as a "young" family—or still young enough. Maybe it's because we've been here so long and seem independent, so few people have invited Caterina to join them alone, without us, for something just for her, something social. Many people think of Fede e Luce as lovely monthly gatherings—fun, lighthearted, carefree. But for families like us, Fede e Luce is every single day of every year.
Forty years ago, society hid people with disabilities away or locked them into special schools. The parish and the wider world were empty and dark. Then came the Fede e Luce picnic on Sunday—incredible, full of joy and lightness. Finally, everyone felt welcome.
Now we have Law 104. Schools have integrated children with disabilities into regular classrooms. Civil society has made inclusion its duty.
And here's the paradox: kids with disabilities actually have a richer social life outside the Church and outside Fede e Luce—at least while they're in school. But when school ends? That's another chapter. I don't even want to think about it.
And for those of us who grew up in Fede e Luce, that hurts a little.
Maybe what we need is for the spirit of Fede e Luce to sink deeper into people's hearts—especially into the hearts of those who've been in Fede e Luce for years. We need people willing to turn their own family life upside down, to go out and meet kids with disabilities and their families, not just to organize more events.
Because only then do you understand what it means—the upheaval that comes when a child is born with a disability.
We parents pour all our energy into giving our children a dignified, happy life. But then the social life falls away.
And it gets lonely. I don't think our family's situation is rare, not in our area anyway.
Who is willing to spend time with Caterina? To do anything with her?
It only happens when you actually know a child with a disability, when you see past the disability itself. Then you can spend free time together and find out you're having fun. Because these kids want what everyone wants: to be together, to meet people, to share a pizza with friends.
Parish events—weekend activities, celebrations—need to be planned with these marginalized kids in mind, because it might be their only chance at a social life.
I think parishes, like schools, should know who lives in their neighborhoods and actively seek out families with disabled children, rather than waiting for them to show up on their own. Because sometimes they can't.
Every person, as an individual—not just as a member of a group or organization—should think about that.
For Confirmation, we'll probably have to arrange a personalized path for Caterina. It might be the only way to prepare her. Her siblings won't love that—they wanted her to do what they did, like she did for First Communion.
It does comfort me that the Church is starting to move on this. The problem is people who won't let themselves be moved.
Monica Leggeri, Rome - Kimata
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