Disability was never part of my growing up. What I remember is that my parents weren't afraid of it—they didn't turn away. While I was still in school, a priest suggested I join a Fede e Luce community. I went with a friend, and I stayed for years.
The slight nervousness at first quickly gave way to the joy of our monthly gatherings. It all felt natural. Later, I moved, left the community, started working, and got married. When I asked Xavier to join a community with me, he wasn't ready yet, and I didn't want to commit alone. A few years later, after several moves, we found ourselves in a parish where many families had children with disabilities. Talking about it among ourselves, we got the idea to start our own community tied to the parish. Xavier was all in, and so we launched it with our four daughters—aged ten down to four. After a year of informal meetings, "Cammino di Luce" was born.
Our daughters were naturally part of this adventure. They loved helping care for the younger children. They came with us on pilgrimage to Lourdes and had the joy of meeting Jean Vanier. Beautiful moments they treasured. But then, during their teenage years, our two oldest decided they'd had enough. They stopped coming. Xavier and I looked at each other and thought: we've lost something here.
We'd hoped the experience would make them more sensitive to people who are fragile. Instead, we saw the opposite. But we never made them feel guilty. Joining a community was our choice, not theirs. I think it was good for them to feel free. And sure enough, without quite knowing why, they'd show up some Sundays anyway. Then Maylis, our oldest, after finishing secondary school, left for Pondichéry to work with the Little Sisters of Charity, caring for disabled children in an orphanage.
Now, before she finishes her master's in business, she's heading to Congo for six months to work with autistic children at a clinic. Xavier and I are deeply grateful for the choices our daughter has made.
Gaelle, from O&L No. 213