On that blessed February 21st, I learned immediately that an embrace could be dangerous. Here, near Milan, many of us travel for work to other provinces. The lower Lodi area included. Friends and family had been there. How do you greet them? Keep your distance? Yes, but what an effort!
The next day, with a few friends, we half-laughed about it. We stayed apart, taking a walk together instead. But when we said goodbye, we couldn't help ourselves. We embraced. Come on, surely we weren't all infected?
The day after that, at the newspaper where I work, I began to truly grasp the risks. Speaking more than a meter apart felt strange. I adapted, to protect myself and others. Though my colleagues took time to understand, and staying distant made me seem unfriendly. Then the first masks appeared in the office. Then came the order: everyone home, don't go out. And from home now, I work and write: remote work.
No friends, no gym, no film club. Appointments canceled. And the deepest pain: unable to see my Faith and Light community. Our last gathering in Rho had been so rich, so alive. A beautiful day together—sharing announcements, eating lunch, watching a show that drew everyone in. The calendar was full of planned meetings. Instead: everything stopped. From Glenda's birthday party to regional formation, from the international council scheduled for mid-March in Egypt to the Italian national assembly set for June. Forced halt.
The longing for news, for handshakes and embraces, was overwhelming. But what could we do, shut inside? Apart from phone calls and WhatsApp, we had social media. That's how "Close from a Distance" was born—after a conversation with a couple of friends. A slogan to launch videos that would let us feel near to our communities, to every family, to every person.
A moment later came the idea to reach out to Don Marco: his reflections on Scripture were precious. His accompaniment never wavered. I tried sending messages—you know, I love to talk. Talking to myself, less so. But those videos reached many people, and that made me feel less alone. I hope it helped others too, getting through these strange days.
Creativity, you know, runs through Faith and Light's veins. So I watched cooking competitions emerge, other videos teaching our songs (thank you, Fabio!), messages from Don Mauro, brilliantly colored rainbows with "Everything will be fine!" written on them, Matteo making fresh pasta for his mom Luisa, and more.
I also saw sorrowful messages. I grieved Antonella, from Cesano Boscone, who didn't make it. From a distance, I said goodbye to priests the coronavirus took from us. I prayed for dear friends, shut away in hospitals and then at home, trying not to infect their families.
Quarantine teaches you to reclaim time for yourself. To rediscover being with family (even if, after a while, not being able to leave starts to wear on you). It sparks imagination. It gives time to pray. Social media showed us it can be useful for this too: to follow the Stations of the Cross, to attend Mass, to listen to meditations. I, hesitant about it two years ago, had to welcome it as a gift that kept us united.
The hunger to see each other again is immense. As soon as we can throw open our doors, we'll run to each other, to celebrate. It will be great joy. Even greater than usual. But I think we need to carry something of this quarantine forward with us. Let's not forget this time. It's certainly teaching everyone something. For me, it's this: staying close even from a distance helps hope grow. And the certainty that Faith and Light is one great family—that is my great hope, every day. We are contagious, yes, but it's a contagion of love. And from far away, we know how to say it to each other: you are precious to me, I love you so much!