You came to our house every Friday, and a glance into our eyes was all you needed to know our mood and transform our lives. They called you disabled these past days, and we ask your forgiveness, our love. The disabled ones are those whose eyes stop at your Down syndrome, who stop at the shell that covers us all. But you were Angelo Volpi. You embraced everyone without distinction. You had "genius" words that pierced the hearts of those willing to listen. One look was enough for you to sense the soul of whoever stood before you. In your embrace you captured even the Pope, and—as anyone who knew you understood—you were a rogue who, in your curiosity, refused boredom.
In short, our love, you were and will always be uniquely Angelo. And like you—Angelica, Alessandra, Enrica, Valeria, Monica, Massimo, Marco, Samuele Matteo, and all your friends whom people insist on calling disabled. You are precious in your uniqueness. Nonna Rosy loved and protected you tirelessly, yet she always left you free to go out into the world, to have experiences beyond our walls. She was teaching you to live openly.
She was among the first parents to fight for founding Alambicco, which you came to love as a second family, and she always taught us to let go and to stay united. Our deepest thanks to everyone who cared for you: Milena, Mariangela, Raffaella and Giuliano, Alambicco and Anffas, Raggi di Sole, Amici Orchidea, Giratempo, Diversamente Fuoristrada, Giacomo and Gastone.
We remind you all: disability lives in the eyes of the one who looks. We loved Angelo and Nonna Rosy.
His siblings and sisters-in-law at the Mass for Angelo and Rosa