What exactly is a special institution? For many, the word conjures something terrifying—a place we go to great lengths to spare our children from. Embarrassed and curious, I decided to find out for myself. And so I did the only sensible thing: I went to see them.
Don Guanella
The house welcomes 250 handicapped residents aged 18 and older, cared for by 150 religious sisters and lay staff.
The closest one to me was the "Casa S. Maria della Provvidenza," better known as the "Don Guanella residence for women."
From the street, it presents an enormous façade, well-maintained, somewhat austere. But step inside, and you find a living, breathing family. The sisters have modernized the interior, dividing the large, convent-like building into small apartments of eight residents each.
Sister Serena, the director, led me to knock on several doors, and we were always welcomed with a smile.
I saw cheerful dining rooms, small kitchens displaying good meals (residents can heat dishes from the central kitchen or shop and cook for themselves). Bedrooms hold two to six beds; each has its own bedspread, chosen by the girl who sleeps there, and personal wardrobes. Nothing matches; everything is bright and carefully arranged, both homey and practical.
There is something family-like in each apartment, a sense of dignity and care that the residents themselves help create. The sister in charge—part mother, part housekeeper, part friend—helps bake a cake here, sets the table there with one of the girls. Some of the older women, a few in wheelchairs, return from the workshops in the garden as lunch hour approaches. Yet when we arrive, the workshops are still humming with activity. Women work at looms, with rope, with leather. The things they make will be sold at the neighborhood market by the residents themselves. Some girls, accompanied by an educational assistant, go out each day to work in the municipal greenhouses. But there is also an orchard here, where anyone can work.
I chatted with some of them and toured a full medical clinic, excellently equipped, where each resident receives careful attention and treatment.
Sister Serena and Sister Giustina, the social worker, told us about contact with families—when there are families—weekend outings, visits home, celebrations with numerous friends. But in many cases, families are far away or no longer exist. Speaking with one or another resident, I felt that this place is their family, their security. This "institution" is truly their home. A rather large home, perhaps, but solid and loving. And is it not the hope of those parents who placed their daughter on the waiting list (there are hundreds of them): that when their strength fails, their daughter will still find the protection and love they have given her all her life?
The Cottolengo
The house welcomes 160 girls and women with disabilities, cared for by 50 religious sisters living among them. Priority goes to those who are poorest and most abandoned.
A name. A place, perhaps, a little mysterious.
It sits far from the city center, somewhat isolated in the outlying countryside. This isolation has its drawbacks, though one cannot deny the advantages of space and modern facilities.
Here, the sisters do everything: medical care, education, rehabilitation, cooking, cleaning. Here too, the residential buildings are divided into apartments with bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, and sitting area.
There is a pavilion for schooling, manual labor, art activities, and various therapies. At noon and evening, everyone returns to their apartments to find their "family," eat lunch, clean the kitchen. Certainly, not every resident can participate in work or educational activities—some are deeply limited by their disabilities—but all are surrounded by the sisters' attention and love.
The spaces are bright and large, immaculately clean, the atmosphere calm and harmonious.
Yet the sisters do not forget the wider world: there are weekend visits with family (for those who have one), vacations, visits from friends, Sunday outings to church, and sometimes invitations to eat with families from the parish.
In modern terms, these two institutions are "places of life," certainly with their own character; other, very different arrangements may exist, but these do exist, and they welcome people with love and skill. Which of us has not dreamed of these essential values for raising our children—all children, especially those who are fragile and hurt, who need throughout their lives, above all else, to be loved and protected?