In 1979 we lived in Milan, in the parish of San Giuseppe della Pace. Our family consisted of my wife Irma, our son Paolo—a sixteen-year-old with Down syndrome—and me. As we left Mass one day, a woman approached us. Her name was Giovanna Carozzi, and she asked if we knew about Faith and Light. In just a few words, she described what the movement did. For us, it felt like divine providence: in Faith and Light, parents, children, and friends all felt truly equal, sharing their experiences and supporting one another on a difficult but deeply rewarding path walked together.
In 1991 we moved to Ponte Lambro, where we found the local Faith and Light group founded by Father Dario Madaschi. That same year we adopted Teresa Chiara, who was only a few months old and had been abandoned in a small provincial hospital because of her Down syndrome. Teresa Chiara is now thirty-five and attends a social education center in our town. Paolo, now fifty-six, retired several years ago after thirty years working at Il Sole 24 Ore.
— See also: Treasure in Earthen Vessels, by Dario Madaschi
In 2000, together with several parents who were friends through Faith and Light and many other people from Ponte Lambro, we founded the Arcobaleno Association to create residential communities and supported apartments. In 2009 we inaugurated Casa di Dario, a residential facility named in honor of that young priest who died at thirty in 1985. Father Dario Madaschi was a beloved spiritual guide to our community and later to the national association. His pastoral commitment to vulnerable people was extraordinary. We had spoken many times about the present and about what would happen after we were gone. Those conversations with Father Dario kept circling back to the same solution: a form of protection—both housing and comprehensive support. Building a community with many friends could be the answer. His vision of communal living was inspiring, and despite its potential challenges, it won me over. From late 1984 onward, my thoughts were constantly fixed on finding a way to create a community where our children and others in need could live, giving parents hope for the future.
Today the community is managed by Codess, a significant social services organization. It is home to ten people with intellectual and physical disabilities who no longer have support from their families of origin. They are cared for by trained staff, an educator, and a coordinator. The community is defined not by the concept of a "residential facility" but by the warmth of the word "home." This principle gave rise to calling residents inhabitants rather than guests. The atmosphere is friendly and familial—so much so that each person says, "This is my house." Even the volunteers, who are a vital link to the wider community, feel like family. The bonds that form contribute to a real sense of belonging. Each person's activities are tailored to them: some help in the kitchen, others draw, read, or listen to music. There are also shared moments with scheduled activities and agreed-upon rules. Some go out during the day to attend social education centers in the area, learning skills that help them build independence.
For us parents, this has been deeply comforting. It shows us that when we are no longer here, a solution exists for our vulnerable children—whether that is life in community or in supported apartments for independent living, whatever suits each person best.
