To introduce my daughter Enza's experience—so rewarding and affirming—I want to share some details about her first, so you can understand her better.
Enza is twenty-eight years old. She has cerebral palsy and infantile psychosis; the damage to her left hemisphere prevents her from speaking, and perhaps from thinking in words as well. Her behavior is often psychotic, though she does connect with others. When she's well, she's cheerful and willing: she helps with housework, she's eager to serve. At mealtime she sets the table and is always ready to jump up if something's missing.
Enza has always expressed herself through gesture for her basic needs. Anything more complicated is beyond her, and her reactions are purely emotional. When she's happy, she cooperates, gives kisses and hugs, accepts others around her. When she's struggling, she swings from agitation to aggression. This behavior had become so constant at times that we feared she'd never find peace again.
Enza attended the local ANFFAS center, but they discharged her about ten years ago, telling us they couldn't manage her anymore. After that, we found nothing else.
Only in recent years have we had home support from the city—six hours a week with two caregivers who take Enza on long walks. She's thrilled when they arrive. They are, practically speaking, her only real social life, apart from her experience with Fede e Luce.
But in that group, because of so many negative experiences and fear of abandonment, isolation had grown around her instead of welcome.
Still, when some young people suggested that Enza try the Capizzone camping experience, I considered it seriously, despite my doubts. We decided to bring it up at the preparatory meetings: I would explain Enza's situation and hear what others thought.
That's what happened. At that meeting, my husband and I felt very encouraged. We decided to take Enza to Capizzone.
At the camp, the first person to welcome Enza was a young man I didn't know. He sat on a bench, pretending to do nothing, but I sensed he was there for her. Enza started running around, darting here and there. I watched the young man follow her back and forth. He didn't call out to her, didn't shout. Instead, in a very soft voice and leaning down a little, I heard him whisper words in her ear. Enza began to walk more slowly and—I learned later—responded to his singing with small sounds. They had made real contact.
I was immediately relieved. Now they were sitting together on a bench, both sitting upright. Enza was still, positioned exactly like him. There was no restlessness in her. I could hear the young man humming quietly, and Enza, very serious, listened.
I never approached them. I didn't want to disturb that harmony.
Something very meaningful happened with how my daughter was fed at our camp. From the first day, a young man told me: "Enza eats with us from now on. Stay calm and keep your distance as much as you can." That's what I did. On the first day I was somewhat worried—I was anxious about the girls sitting beside her. Every so often I'd watch them, and I saw them so serene and happy to care for Enza that it greatly reassured me.
Read also: Not Losing Sight of Enza
One day a young woman from my own neighborhood said to me: "You hardly ever bring Enza to parties. We only got to know her better now." I answered: "I'm very afraid. It distresses me when Enza lashes out at someone. You understand—I try to do only what seems right for the group." But she didn't seem entirely convinced.
What she said might have seemed small, but it wasn't. I felt full of gratitude: Enza was completely accepted, not because she behaved well or differently than usual, but because these remarkable young people were able to recognize her gifts and share them with everyone around them.
Angelo and I rejoiced. He was busy in the kitchen preparing meals, doing his best and accepting the daily applause and "Hip, hip, hooray for the cook!" I believe that by doing this, Angelo showed his gratitude. It was the first time he wasn't needed to watch his daughter.
There were a few tense moments after the third day, to be honest. One evening she began to get agitated—she was very tired and couldn't settle. The first time she clashed with others, I wasn't there. When Angelo told me, I felt sick and thought the vacation was over. But immediately a young woman calmly said to me: "Giuseppina, Enza hit someone twice. Nothing happened."
The next evening, the same thing occurred. Then I really thought we should go home. A young man was standing near me, and I confided that I was thinking of leaving. He said: "If you do, it will be a failure for me. It will mean I haven't been enough of a friend to Enza."
I was speechless. I stood quiet for a moment, taking in the depth of what he'd said. Finally I told him: "Thank you for those words. This is what I wanted Fede e Luce to be. This is what it is." I was happy to be part of this community and grateful that God had let me meet people like this.
There was something special in the air. Today I'm very glad I gave everyone this small gift: having thought through and organized and lived with them Enza's First Communion—an event so intimate and moving for parents who see their daughter denied so much, yet Jesus is there, he gives himself, and he welcomes her.
During the first Mass, a friend asked me at the moment of the Eucharist if Enza could receive Communion. I shook my head no. But in that moment something shifted in me. I looked at the Risen Christ in that small church, at all of us together, at Enza fully welcomed, and I desired that she too have access to the Lord's table. There would never be a better moment. I decided: this was it, with these people.
Right after the service, I spoke with Don Mario Pellegrini. He agreed. And so, shortly after, Enza's preparation for First Communion began—it lasted only five days, but they were days truly full of life!
Every day we went to the little church to be with Jesus. A young woman had taught Enza to gather small flowers, which she arranged on the altar. I would say to her: "Jesus loves you so much and invites you to eat his bread." Enza would stretch her arms as wide as she could, and I would repeat: "So much, so much! It's true—he loves you so very much."
Every day for five days. Meanwhile, the young people prepared evening prayers that connected deeply to this event, and they ended with a mimed Last Supper in which Enza "went to eat at the Lord's table the bread offered to her as a special gift, a particular relationship with Jesus.
The young women, along with the boys, began to prepare a bouquet of flowers made from white tissue paper and pink crepe paper. It turned out beautifully, finished with a white ribbon.
The friends began urging me to prepare for the big day, and one of them said: "It's time to get her a white dress!" And I said: "A white dress? Are you joking? Enza is a bit heavyset, and she's twenty-eight..."
"Giuseppina," she said, "this will be an important day for your daughter. She's receiving the Lord. It's right that she be dressed in something special. When Enza sees herself all dressed in white, she'll understand even more that this is a truly special celebration!"
Her enthusiasm was such that I couldn't object. Angelo, a young man, and a boy and I went searching the shops. We were lucky—we found right away a lovely white and beige linen outfit, perfect for hiding a few extra pounds, along with white sneakers. We ordered a cake too. Our friend was right. This was how Enza should be celebrated!
When it came time to go to church, our daughter was very calm, serious, and fully present, in her beautiful dress with the bouquet in her hand. She entered the church and went straight to the altar, positioning herself at its center. She understood that Jesus, in inviting her, was giving her this privilege. I don't know what miracle happened—whether from God or from the community itself—but Enza perceived the presence of God. As Henry Bissonier said, our children have a highly developed sense of the divine.
The Risen Jesus, arms outstretched on the cross, said to her: "Enza, I love you so much!" And Enza, after receiving the Eucharist, at the end of Mass went and kissed the face of Christ repeatedly with unusual fervor, her arms wide open.
In that moment I felt a joy that made me feel at one with everyone else. Enza was loved, and I felt strangely loved as well.
Enza was a source of love, a source of unity. Everyone rejoiced with us—friends and young people alike. We all recognized her gifts. My husband and I give deep thanks to the Lord for this joy we lived, which Fede e Luce made possible.
- Giuseppina Argento, 1994
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