Emanuele is thirty-three years old. When he was one, after six weeks in a coma, he developed epilepsy. Today he works in administration for a small business. His sister Carole tells us about the event that transformed his life.
Emanuele doesn't have many friends his own age. The children, rather, are drawn to him and seek his company. Adults often listen to him only half-attentively, their eyes already searching the room for someone worth talking to. When he senses he isn't being heard or accepted, Emanuele falls silent. He told me once: "You know, I don't have anything to say that interests people." He wishes he could marry, have children. He grieves that he has no grandchildren and speaks of it often.
It was just after Christmas. Emanuele, deeply moved, met his godson for the first time.
It was just after Christmas. Emanuele, deeply moved, met his godson for the first time.
Last November, one of our cousins had a baby, and to everyone's surprise and joy, my brother was chosen as godfather. I called him as soon as I heard the news. He confessed he couldn't believe it. "Being a godfather will change my life," he told me. "Now I feel recognized." I believe this was the greatest joy of his life—a joy wholly turned toward the future. Our cousin sent him several photographs of his godson Antonio right away, and my brother showed them to everyone with pride. Now the photographs are framed and displayed prominently in his bedroom. He sent his godson an urgent package with a stuffed teddy bear.
The day before the baptism, he and I traveled by train together. We were happy to be traveling like two friends with so much to say to each other. It was just after Christmas. Emanuele, deeply moved, met his godson for the first time. There were many of us there, and everyone congratulated my brother. At table, he talked freely, happy to be listened to and respected. He told childhood memories and stories full of humor. He felt confident in himself as never before. But at the end of the meal, he had an epileptic seizure. The baby's parents stayed close to me and to him. Once he had regained consciousness, the baby's father brought out some pages with the words to the baptism hymns. We began to sing them, and little by little Emanuele joined in. When we went to bed, no one seemed worried about the next day, and I felt myself carried along by the trust of the whole family and their love for my brother as he is. What peace!
To Protect and Love This Child
The next day, during the baptism ceremony, I saw Emanuele deeply recollected and clearly aware that he was undertaking a commitment and responsibility. At the end of the baptism, in front of the altar, our cousin placed the baby in the godfather's arms for photographs. Now, when I look at those pictures, I am always struck by Emanuele's face—so full of peace and tenderness for his godson. His expression of deep happiness moved many people. There was a reception for friends afterward. Emanuele spoke with everyone, radiant, strengthened, reassured. There was a guest book. He wrote in it: "I hope to live long to protect this child, watch over him, and love him. I hope my godson has a very happy life." The next day, before we left, Emanuele held the baby in his arms for a long time. We talked about the baptism all the way home.
Two months have passed. There have been many exchanges of photographs. A few days ago, my brother received "a gift from his godson"—a scarf. He doesn't usually like scarves, but this one he treasures! He sends his godson many small gifts in return and writes or calls the baby's parents often. So much so that the baby's eight-year-old sister told her mother she wished my brother were her godfather too. Recently, when I told other cousins about this baptism, they said to me: "But why have we never thought of him as a godfather?"
Choosing a disabled or ill person who has genuine faith and a sense of responsibility as a godparent is a source of unimaginable grace—for them, for the parents, for brothers and sisters, for every member of the family. It is a new spiritual breath to help us continue on our way.
- from O. et L. no. 97 C. C.