Having a wonderful mother is an immense gift.
During my pregnancy, we both hoped for a daughter; after so many grandsons, we needed a girl!
My mother was elderly and in poor health, but she was happy to see her youngest daughter about to become a mother.
Manuela was born—a joy that, sadly, lasted only a few hours. Then came the ordeal: transfer from the clinic to the hospital, shocking diagnoses—cerebral palsy, blindness—followed by trips abroad where doctors only confirmed what we already knew. Eye surgeries. Months of real darkness.
My world was collapsing and there was nothing I could do
My world was collapsing and there was nothing I could do. Fortunately, my mother helped me enormously. She was always at my side, hiding her own tears, and I'm certain she suffered as much as I did, if not more. She came to the house every day, never leaving me alone with my pain. Instead, she pushed me to start living again. She often urged me to go out, to pick up my husband from the office and take a walk with him. Saturday evenings, she would stay over with Manuela so my husband and I could see our friends and have some semblance of a life. At first, I did it mostly to make her happy. But over time, I realized that by distracting myself and staying closer to my husband, I could give more to my daughter.
Years passed. The difficulties multiplied; Manuela's disabilities proved more severe than we had feared. Yet my mother's constant, serene presence helped us—helped us tremendously.
Meanwhile, two more children were born, and the work doubled. We moved to another city, and she didn't hesitate to leave her home, her routines, to come with us: she couldn't abandon her Manuela. She helped us practically too. Often it was she who fed Manuela, and only through her patience could we get through a meal—it took roughly two hours.
This past year, Manuela's behavior has worsened: she hits and screams day and night, so we've had to place her in the Lega del Filo d'Oro institute. We have great hope in the work they do there, and that we'll welcome our dear girl home and live together more peacefully.
My mother is heartbroken. She thinks she's no longer useful to anyone, and she misses her granddaughter terribly. She doesn't realize I still need her—precisely because I miss Manuela so much too. I truly believe I have an exceptional mother. I couldn't tell you everything she has been and done for us. All the pages of Ombre e Luci wouldn't be enough.
by Brunella D'Amico, 1986
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