It started on March 6, 2008. My name is Vito. I've been happily married to Immacolata for about twenty-three years, and we have two grown children, Gaetana and Domenico. We're part of the "Il Germoglio" community in Cardito, near Naples.
The next day, March 7, my wife and I came home around lunchtime. We turned on the news and heard something that stopped us cold: a small child with cerebral palsy had been abandoned the night before at San Giovanni di Dio Hospital in Frattaminore.
I called Don Giorgio right away—our spiritual director and a chaplain at that very hospital. I asked if there was anything we could do to help, and told him we were ready to assist.
He answered immediately: the child needed people to take shifts caring for him. Could my wife offer some hours?
She said yes without hesitation. That same evening we went to the hospital. We had to see this child. When we arrived, we found a little boy—maybe four years old—lying in a crib. He looked frightened and malnourished, with enormous eyes and long lashes. His disability was apparent. We picked him up, but had to support his head; he was so weak. We fell in love with him at once.
He'd been found the day before the feast of San Giovanni di Dio, so they named him Giovanni.
My wife looked at me. I knew exactly what she meant, and I nodded.
When we married, we wanted at least three children. But in 1999, a serious illness struck Immacolata, and we couldn't have more. Now, suddenly, we had the chance to bring home the third child we'd always desired. Immacolata asked if we could apply for custody.
I asked why she wanted to take such a big step. She told me that Giovanni deserved a better life too.
I said it would mean giving up almost all our freedom—this child would need care around the clock, as God demanded. She said she would make any sacrifice for him. I told her I was ready to face whatever came next. From that moment on, Giovanni was our youngest son.
When we got home, we told Gaetana and Domenico. They were thrilled. Tania, our oldest, had some doubts at first—she was nervous about his disability. But the thought of having a little brother soon swept away her fears. They started planning how to fix up the small room for Giovanni.
We called Don Giorgio with our news. He was overjoyed and immediately contacted the social services. But they were against us. A judge had already issued a decree placing Giovanni with a foster home. It was a blow.
We met twice with a social worker from Frattamaggiore and with a gifted, compassionate psychologist from Grumo Nevano. Time crept forward. But Don Giorgio wouldn't give up, and neither would I. After a month, we learned the judge's name. I sent him a certified letter explaining, with all the conviction I could muster, why we should be entrusted with Giovanni.
A few days later, Don Giorgio told us the judge was in our favor. He wanted to see us soon.
One Tuesday, while my wife was at the hospital with Giovanni, the judge's secretary called. We were summoned for April 24—to discuss our custody request. My wife told me the news while I was with Don Giorgio. We started dancing in the hospital hallway. The dream was becoming real.
The days dragged. My wife increased her shifts at the hospital. Giovanni had grown so attached that he cried whenever we left in the evening.
On the appointed day, we met with the judge. After handling some paperwork, Giovanni would be ours. I called Don Giorgio. He spread the news through the whole hospital in an instant. On April 29, exactly, we received the custody decree. We could finally bring Giovanni home.
The ward director gave us all his instructions, then said goodbye with tears in his eyes. The nurses and Don Giorgio walked us to the car.
At home, our children had decorated everything with balloons and welcome signs. Two weeks later, watching Giovanni fall asleep and wake up smiling makes us happy. It shows he feels safe with us.
Tania acts like she's his mother—she changes his diapers, bathes him, feeds him, and plays with him. Domenico is more cautious; he's afraid of hurting him. But you can see the joy in his eyes at having a little one in the house.
We thought we were giving a smile to an unlucky child. But it was he who brought joy into our home.
We pray that God gives us the strength to care for him and love him, so that Giovanni's smile lasts forever.
Now we face another battle: adoption. Only then can we truly say we have the third child we always wanted.
Vito Petrone, 2008
On May 3, at a Fede e Luce community gathering, the welcome for little Giovanni and his new family was truly moving. The community threw a party for the Petrone family—who, with Giovanni, had moved from the category "FRIENDS" to "PARENTS."
It was a real celebration. Maurizio Manca, the hospital director who had cared for Giovanni, came, along with other medical staff. With deep emotion, they wanted to share in the feast that marked Giovanni's new life.
The child has his challenges, but with Vito and Tina's help, Don Giorgio's support, and the community behind them, he will recover. It will be a true joy to have him with us.
The Lord arranged it all: the hospital, Don Giorgio, the volunteers who cared for him, Tina and Vito who visited him every day, the spirit of friendship and love that Fede e Luce teaches, the hearts of two people who wanted deeply to help someone more unfortunate than themselves. And so the plan came together.
Without Fede e Luce and what it stands for, Giovanni might never have had—at least until adoption—a real family that loves and cares for him with such depth.
I confess that when I went to their house the evening of the custody decree, I embraced the child, I embraced my friends, and I wept. Perhaps for no reason, but surely from joy—seeing how a child with a handicap could touch people's hearts so deeply, even though he doesn't have blond hair and blue eyes.
For me, the parent of a child with a handicap, that carries a special meaning and a deeper weight. This seed has kindled a great hope.
Lello Mele