Cati was born premature. At three months old, whether she lay limp as a rag doll in our arms or thrashed about with arms and legs flailing, she ignored us completely. Her eyes—so beautiful, so full of blue—eluded our gaze, yet they expressed an intense inner life.
The Lord had entrusted her to us on this earth. We had to provide for her. We also had to prepare her for the other life that was truly hers: the life of Heaven, of the Spirit. In reality these two missions merged into one. We had to adapt ourselves to her difficulties and nurture in Cati every dimension of her person—physical, manual, intellectual, artistic, and spiritual.
Despite her serious behavioral difficulties, we gave Cati an education parallel to that of her two older brothers. She accompanied us everywhere. At six, she learned to read using the Borel-Maisonny method. I had decided to speak to her naturally and to explain everything, just as I did with her older brothers. We would see later whether anything came of it. When she learned to read and write, I realized the approach had borne far more fruit than we had dared hope. I often wondered how she had managed to learn at all. Today she possesses a remarkably rich vocabulary that she rarely uses in everyday life.
Recently, as we read together, she encountered the word "claudicante." I expected her to say she didn't understand it. When I asked, she answered with complete naturalness: "to limp."
Years ago, my husband and I traveled to Turkey. The person caring for Cati had posted a map of Turkey on a blackboard and had her cut out pictures of the various places we visited. Cati glued them onto the map in their exact locations. She also knew that Istanbul and Constantinople were names for the same city. When we returned, we asked everyone who had told her, but to this day we still don't know.
Like everyone, we tried the most fashionable therapies of the time. At six, psychoanalysis—a disaster that worsened Cati's condition. The therapist had no qualms about destabilizing our marriage, trying to convince my husband that I was the cause of her disability. At twelve, neuroleptics: they helped me through exhaustion, but Cati paid the price with what are called "side effects." When we gradually withdrew the drugs, a rebound effect occurred—a severe worsening of her symptoms, similar to drug withdrawal. But Cati came back to life.
Her Relationship with the Lord
She always attended Mass with us, and at eight she received special catechesis. This began in a group setting, then one-on-one with a catechist who helped her recognize her relationship with the Lord in her daily life. Through drawings, songs, and words, her spirit opened toward gratitude for all that spiritual richness which had until then been unknown to her. One day, at the start of a session, Cati slowly closed her books and notebooks, laid her hands flat on the table, and fell silent. But we all understood her message: she had had enough of this childish approach. From then on, catechesis became woven into everyday life. Cati had rejected the classical catechism books, but we found other occasions for her to read texts about the life of Jesus.
She asked to go to Mass and found there a welcoming community that had "adopted" her. Even now she participates intensely.
When her cousin was confirmed, she expressed the desire to receive Communion. When we asked her about the Eucharist, she wrote in her notebook: "You eat a wafer. It's a piece of bread. Jesus comes into me." But three times she refused the wafer after running toward the altar to receive it. We kept talking with her about it and reflecting together with a priest.
Without Tears
Though her progress is slow, Cati's advancement is continuous. From a certain level of knowledge onward, we have seen numerous initiatives emerge in her: she assigns herself tasks and responsibilities.
Recently we were on vacation in the mountains. Cati knew it was teatime and saw that we weren't moving. She heated water, brought cups, saucers, spoons, and sugar; placed a tea bag in each cup and poured the hot water. She adapts easily to new tasks, new people. She can analyze and summarize simple texts.
She communicates a great deal, though often in abbreviated ways. For instance, to say "I'd like another bag to collect pinecones because this one is torn," she simply shouts for another bag. Her mode of expression in such cases might be mistaken for a tantrum.
This journey has not been traveled without tears, without occasional discouragement, without struggles; but there have been so many moments of sunshine: Cati's affection and care for us, and the joy she feels in succeeding. Particular behavioral difficulties remain, but they do not hinder her development. At thirty-seven, Cati still strives to move forward.
- Denise Herbaudière, 1996
O. et L. n. 113