My brother-in-law, a doctor, broke the news to me with great anguish: Sofia had Down syndrome. My husband's response was immediate: "She's my daughter. It doesn't matter. I'll love her more than the others." And he did.
My father-in-law arrived the day after she was born, but he never looked at her. He told his sisters that Sofia had been born, but he did not mention that she had Down syndrome. Everyone congratulated me. Six months later, I received letters of condolence.
By seven months, Sofia was a beautiful child—smiling and graceful.
Grandfather sent letters and postcards to his grandchildren, always closing with hugs for Stefania and Nicola. Never for Sofia. I read them aloud, always adding Sofia's name, until Stefania—my oldest—started school, learned to read, and asked me why her name was never there.
I made excuses: the mailman had come too early, Grandfather hadn't had time to finish, and so on. But one day Stefania said to me: "It's not true. Grandfather doesn't love Sofia. He never looks at her. He's never held her. He knows she's not like the others. He's ashamed of her, Mom."
My heart broke. The next day, when he arrived, I burst into tears and told him everything I felt—all the hurt he was causing us. A doctor, a professor, ashamed of one of his own grandchildren. I was deeply wounded by it.
He picked up his coat and left without a word. We didn't see each other for three months.
Then I called to invite him to my husband's birthday. He was surprised, but he came—with an enormous bouquet of flowers—and embraced me warmly, asking for forgiveness from the depths of his heart. I forgave him.
From that day on, he cared for Sofia. He held her close. He taught her to draw and do puzzles. He took her by the hand on walks through his city, where he is well known, without any shame. He took her to fine restaurants—the finest ones—with no hesitation. Sofia behaved beautifully. She never cried. She ate everything. She was more sensible than her brothers.
Grandfather is still alive. He is ninety-two. Every now and then he calls to ask how Sofia is. She writes to him and loves him dearly.
- A Mother, from Ombres et Lumières no. 116