My name is Éric, I'm 10 years old, turning 11 soon. I was born with Down syndrome. I have two brothers—Irénée, 8, and Xavier, 6—and a sister, Maïlys, who is 3. My father's name is Luc and my mother's is Amélie.
I'd wanted to write to the Pope for a year and a half. Writing is hard for me. During the All Saints' holiday in 2017, Mom helped me write a postcard to him. I wrote: "Hello, Pope. My name is Éric. I'm 10 years old. I want to come visit you with my dad, Luc. I want to see you at Mass." It took me an hour and a half to write that with Mom. I also slipped a piece of chocolate into the envelope for him.
In early January 2018, after spending a few days with my mother's godmother, who was dying, I received a letter from the Pope's secretary inviting me to attend Mass in the chapel of Santa Marta on Tuesday, February 27, 2018, at 7 a.m.
We would have to show our identity cards to the Swiss Guards. And the invitation wasn't just for me and my dad—it was for my whole family. I was so happy about going to Rome to see the Pope that I kissed the letter and the photo he sent me.
Now I'll let my mom take over.
When I read the Vatican letter, anxiety swept over me. We couldn't afford it. There was no way I could organize the trip in just six weeks. I'd already arranged vacation time with my colleagues, and my godmother was dying—we were making regular trips to Angers to visit her in the palliative care clinic, to say goodbye little by little. And then we'd have to plan her funeral. I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking: "Éric has wanted to see the Pope for a year and a half. He writes to him. The Pope writes back. This is once-in-a-lifetime. We can't miss it."
I started right away arranging with my colleagues to change my vacation days for February. Luc did the same. That was step one. Fortunately, February 27 fell during school holidays, so no worries about the kids.
Step two: I looked up travel and hotel prices. For six people, they were steep. One night Luc said to me while I was searching online: "Write to OCH. Maybe they have a solution for us." He was right. We needed to trust God, to trust others, so this could happen.
I texted our Faith and Light community assistant in Le Mans and asked for the director of OCH's contact information. He responded with trust and without questions. I appreciated his discretion.
So I emailed Philippe de la Chapelle, who sent me the contact for the head of Faith and Light International, who sent me the contact for the Faith and Light coordinator in Rome.
A simple chain of emails, and suddenly Cinzia from the Rome community offered us a place to stay for six people in an ACLI guesthouse. Through email, she answered my practical questions about organizing the trip as they came up. Each time an email from her arrived, I wept with emotion, realizing what Faith and Light truly is: a GREAT FAMILY. And I kept saying to myself: "It's a great hardship to have a child who is different, a child who complicates daily life for the family and the marriage. But it also gives you the chance to discover real brotherhood in Christ. The brotherhood that for us in Faith and Light at Le Mans is no longer just local—it's European now."
An inheritance from my godmother's death allowed us to pay for the tickets. Thank you for that wink from heaven.
On Saturday, February 24, we left for Rome. Cinzia met us at Trastevere station. How wonderful to be welcomed by a member of the great Faith and Light family—someone we'd never met, yet felt so close to.
The next day we joined a group of young people from Milan who had come to Rome with their parish for Sunday morning Mass at St. Peter's Basilica. Éric was a little disappointed because he'd been expecting a solemn Mass with many bishops and the Pope. We stayed until noon for the Angelus in St. Peter's Square. Éric was happy. The window opened, the red carpet was rolled out, and at noon the Pope appeared on the balcony.
To celebrate our extraordinary trip, my parents took us to lunch at "Trattoria degli Amici," run by the Sant'Egidio Community, where half the staff are people with disabilities. Thank you for such a beautiful gift.
Monday we visited ancient Rome in the snow. Truly an exceptional trip: going to Rome to Mass, personally invited by the Pope, and seeing snow in Rome!
Tuesday, February 27 was the big day. We woke the children at 5:45, left at 6:15 with a quick breakfast. The taxi Cinzia had booked took us through icy streets to the gates of the Vatican. As the Pope's secretary had written, we entered the Vatican after three successive checks by the Swiss Guards and gendarmes, confirming that our family of six was on the guest list for Santa Marta Mass. The Swiss Guards were delighted by our children!
We were invited to leave our coats in a sitting room in the Santa Marta house. Éric looked for his white altar server vestment—the one he'd packed at the start of the month! Oh no. I'd left it on the bed at the house. He found only his cord. Great disappointment. I feared he'd throw a tantrum the way a child with Down syndrome can. Relief—no. We entered the simple, modern chapel. A priest welcomed us in French and explained that we should stay seated after Mass. Luc asked if Éric, even without his vestment, could help serve. The priest hesitated for a moment because there were already two other boys doing it. Looking at Éric, he must have sensed how much this meant to him. He said that at the right moment he'd signal Éric to come to the altar. As for the vestment, he said, "We are the Church of the poor." That phrase marked me. It set the tone for the Mass and this whole encounter.
We attended a simple Mass in Italian. The children were a little disappointed not to understand, but they were surprisingly well-behaved, either impressed by this exceptional Mass or simply tired!
As expected, we stayed seated while Pope Francis joined our gathering of about 50 people for a moment of silent prayer.
Then Pope Francis met with each person or family one by one. Éric went first for this unprecedented meeting. His emotion was truly palpable. Pope Francis blessed him, placed his hands on him, and kissed the top of his head. If you ask Éric about the Pope, he'll show you the hand on his head—that blessing marked him. Then he placed his hand on each of us with great gentleness. I quickly explained that our being there was because Éric had asked to meet him. The Pope simply said, "Pray for me." This encounter was an exchange of looks full of brotherhood and trust. Then, slowly, we left the Vatican.
We walked around the walls of the papal city in bitter cold and spent the rest of the day at the Vatican Museums, taking a beautiful guided tour along the children's route. In the late afternoon, despite the cold, we found a gelateria to celebrate the end of our Rome trip and our meeting with the Pope with Italian ice cream.
We returned to the house exhausted. Cinzia kindly had prepared a hot meal for us—such thoughtful care for six tired, cold, but happy pilgrims.
Back in France, during our family prayer—which we try to do daily during this Lenten season—the children never forget to pray for "Pope Francis."
To conclude this testimony:
You have to be Éric—and have Down syndrome—to make your parents do such wild things.
Thank you, Éric.
Thank you, Pope Francis.
Thank you, Cinzia.
Thank you to all your brothers and sisters in Christ who took part in this chain of Christian brotherhood to bring us to pray with Pope Francis.
by Amélie Stuit and Éric, 2018