For two years now I've been living with Federica. She's a pleasant woman of forty-four with Down syndrome. When I first met her, she seemed quite self-sufficient for her age and her handicap.
What amazes me today is how, despite being an adult, she's managed to grow in so many small ways.
Her daily routine was tightly structured; each activity repeated itself in an identical sequence, day after day.
At first, it seemed almost impossible to break that pattern of gestures—especially since she clung to it fiercely.
Now Federica has gradually adapted to sudden changes in plans. Better still, she's the one proposing them.
Kitchen projects are what she treasures most. Her eyes light up at the thought of learning to cook something new; to pursue this—perhaps because she has a sweet tooth—she'll happily set aside her "secret diary" or her "guitar concert." There's still the occasional problem with salt; her enthusiasm for cooking sometimes spills over the edges. But her intentions are sound.
Her shower is a real victory. She does it entirely on her own! Her hair doesn't always rinse perfectly, and the bathroom ends up looking like a lake; but what matters is that Federica now knows when it's shower time and can manage it completely alone.
Tying her shoelaces was always something to avoid, and it still is. But the attempts we're making together—trying different techniques to tie the bow—are showing real progress.
She loves to draw and leave little written messages for people. Over this past year, Federica has practiced, bringing care and patience to writing and rewriting words that gave her trouble. She can't write a letter to a friend yet, but the comments she writes now under her drawings are clear and legible.
Keep going, Federica. It really is true: it's never too late.
- F.C., 1993
Isn't there a place, a role, for the mentally handicapped adult in changing society? Why treat him only as someone to care for? Doesn't he also need to act, to help bring change, to move things forward? Is he not capable of it? And if he is, what can we expect, what can we hope for from him—beyond his mere presence, his mere handicap?
And further: isn't there a responsibility here? If so, how do we prepare him to face it, to carry out a task?
- Henri Bissonier