I have no doubt whatsoever that the way these three young people have lived their lives—and continue to live them—is a light for us all.
Struck by muscular dystrophy in childhood, a disease that offers little hope of recovery, they have fought to hold on to every moment of survival and to wring from life all the joy they possibly can.
Watching them—and countless others like them—stand firm against hardship and suffering, we can only fall silent. We must make room in our minds and hearts, cluttered as they are with the noise and clutter of daily life, for genuine solidarity with our brothers and sisters, people we hardly know.
Their tenacity, their hard-won determination to live as fully as possible despite a life that grows only steeper—this should make us think. As I sat down to write these words, to open a small window onto their lives, I found myself stopping again and again to ask: How can I speak of people I barely know? What words could possibly do justice to the challenge their lives represent?
I thought of Marco's mother, telling me of her despair when a clumsy doctor delivered the verdict to her—her two-year-old son had muscular dystrophy. She kept telling herself: "Don't cry. Whatever you do, don't cry. Marco will live his life surrounded by our joy." And so it has been. Through twenty-four years, Marco has given courage and strength not only to himself but to everyone around him—his family, his friends.
It is astounding to see how many of our sisters and brothers, faced with such grave disability, manage to live with their daily struggles and discomfort yet still live without despair, as we all wish to do, only along a much harder path.
And they hide their sadness well, because only in doing so can they be victorious—and bear witness to all of us how precious their lives are, and how poor we are if we cannot stand beside them.
Mariangela Bertolini, 2011