Contents
- A Wonderful Experience
- Tobia's Diary
- A Radiant Presence
- School and Integration
- School for the Different
- A Proud Ship
- I Had the Most Beautiful Christmas!
- A Sunday With You
A Wonderful Experience
Dear friends, we are Rosaria and Gastone, and we feel called to share with you this wonderful journey we have lived day by day for nearly two and a half years—a journey born of love for Jesus, discovered through suffering and darkness.
We had been married for twelve years, and our life was always fairly serene.
We were lukewarm Catholics; lukewarm because God was not first in our lives. What mattered to us was everything else: buying a house, dressing well, career, money, and so on. We thought that was simply how life went. Deep down, though, I always felt something missing—a dissatisfaction I couldn't name. As a woman, whether at work or at home, my life was peaceful and calm. But something was not right.
From our marriage came two children: Barbara, now nine, and Paolo, seven. When Paolo fell gravely ill—just months after we suffered a devastating theft that left us in financial crisis and fractured our family—we came to know with certainty that God allowed these sorrows for a purpose we could not yet see. We understood, with absolute clarity, that our children were truly children of God.
The Gospel began to draw us in, giving us strength and courage, and awakening in us an urgent desire to fulfill a promise we had made years before: to adopt a child. We had imagined a healthy one.
One morning during those difficult days, we went to an orphanage. After a series of stunning coincidences that convinced us we were being guided by Jesus himself, we said yes to Him. We consented to adopt a girl born blind from bilateral glaucoma, with intellectual disabilities, and as we would discover at home, she was also deaf and mute, with fragile health.
Yet we felt a profound pull toward this small creature, abandoned and rejected by everyone except God, who was asking us to help and love her on His behalf.
Night after night, our patience and our sacrifices astonished us. But we understood that our willingness was the channel through which God's love flowed. We accepted the child as she was, for life, with no one offering even a glimmer of hope.
Rita—that is her name—showed no sign of awareness of us for her first six to eight months. She continued to bang her head against the floor or the bars of her crib in rhythmic movements, a legacy of more than a year spent in a hospital.
Despite our failures and insufficiencies, we felt Jesus present among us. For His sake, we treated Rita as our daughter. As her health permitted, we began to take her everywhere with us—to friends, to relatives, integrating her completely. Paolo and Barbara both helped with this integration, welcoming her with an ease and love that only children can give. We do not exaggerate when we say they are proud of Rita.
Now Rita sees quite well, walks, her nervous tensions have calmed, she is beginning to speak a few words, hears perfectly, and for the past two months she has been self-sufficient. She no longer fears people as she once did, and has become quite sociable.
The greatest joy is that she is beginning to love us. Rita is four and a half now, and though she has transformed, she remains disabled in various ways. It is clear from all this that Jesus works His miracles through people who have faith in Him.
Our lives have changed completely. We were lukewarm, as I said, and now we are at peace. We have made a leap forward, and I have finally identified that early restlessness in me—it was nothing but love for God, discovered through this child.
In the Gospel according to John (9:1-3), when Jesus's disciples asked Him why a child is born afflicted—whether it is because of the parents' sins or as punishment—He answers: so that the glory of God may be revealed.
Yet the world continues to cast aside these children, ashamed of them, and in doing so prevents the grace and light of God from shining through them.
In the two and a half years that Rita has been with us, she has done so much good. She has transformed us first of all, bringing joy and hope into our lives and the lives of those around us. Two families have written to tell us that after hearing our story, they decided to adopt—two girls with cerebral palsy. I could recount hundreds of other moments that show us how Jesus works through Rita, making our cross and our burden light and sweet, just as the Gospel promises when we live His word.
I should mention the tremendous grace I received from your Faith and Light gathering on October 28, 1975, at St. Peter's. I happened to be there, and that evening, surrounded by such suffering and prayer, I felt God's mysterious presence asking us to love the child we had already had at home for four months.
Since then we see our relationships with family, friends, and strangers with new eyes. We are certain that God unites us, and we thank Him with all our hearts for making us able to see Jesus in every creature, whatever their condition. We recognize in shared love every source of life.
Thank you for walking with us.
Rosaria and Gastone Pellegrini, 1978
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From Tobia's Diary
I had already decided to retire to my little house for winter's sleep when suddenly I heard people talking about very interesting things. I perked up my ears.
"Polenta, stewed meat with sausages, roasted chestnuts..."
There was no doubt about it! A Chestnut Festival was being organized!
"I can't miss this," I said to myself.
So on November 13th, I tucked myself in among the baggage ready to leave, and after a short drive in the car, here we all were at "Gigutin," our little mountain cottage.
What a crowd of friends! All gathered around a table that, for me at least, seemed three days' journey long.
Nothing was missing: polenta, laughter, wine, music... and to finish it all off, a mountain of roasted chestnuts cooked to perfection by the experts in our group.
Early in the afternoon, our priest arrived to loud applause and celebrated Mass just for the young people.
Toward evening, our legs sore from long wandering through the woods, we played a round of "Charades" and said our goodbyes before heading back to our homes. What a beautiful day!
What a shame you all couldn't join us from across Italy!
Next time, perhaps!
Goodbye to you all, from your
Tobia, the turtle of joy
A Radiant Presence
Your serene gaze
your gentle smile
your inviting eyes
speak
to my love
that your life
happy
beside those who love you
forgets
its limits
You are among us
a radiant presence
opening unexpected horizons
to our small world.
And I feel rich
in having you near
ready
to receive
your message
of truth
Piera C.
School and Integration
We mothers of "different" children are heavily engaged with the school decrees, and though I am not currently involved in compulsory education, I am helping Michele's mother advance the case for integration and for the necessity of maintaining special classes. This will ensure that all children facing difficulties can attend schools suited to their abilities.
I saw in your newsletter that you are also taking up this question and asking readers for their thoughts.
I am sending you something I have written on the subject. Please continue this discussion so that parents who feel confused might find clear direction about their children's right to receive help, once they reach school age, from structures outside the family. Society needs to recognize this is a shared responsibility, not something to be left only to the individual family who had the misfortune of having a different child—the burden of creating a present and, if possible, a future for their son or daughter.
School for the Different
In the heated debate over school decrees, I want to raise my voice to say that no matter how troubled schools are today, we must not forget the handicapped. I am ringing the alarm bell.
It has become almost fashionable to talk about them; for me and other parents in my situation, it has been a necessity for a long time. Not to seek pity or false sentiment, but to find genuine and selfless help in building the social structures that every handicapped person needs for a dignified and peaceful life. We must remember that the handicapped—I am speaking of the severely and moderately disabled—are defenseless beings, sometimes not in control of their bodies, sometimes not of their minds. Everyone who approaches them must do so with humility, respecting first and foremost their dignity as human beings.
Recently there has been much talk of their integration into school life and society. That is their right, and always has been—it simply has not been honored. But in the rush to make amends, we risk overreaching. We risk failing to respect the needs, the world, the special reality of those who are different.
This is another grave mistake. Our children must live, not merely survive!
Their world needs special structures, adapted to each person's particular disabilities. True marginalization would come from placing them in the mainstream without carefully accounting for their limitations, trying to force them into the role of non-disabled.
This is the danger our current school policy is running by fighting for the abolition of special classes and the forced integration of all handicapped children into regular classes, with no pedagogical or educational space suited to their real capabilities.
And what if this "experiment" fails? What if a child with severe or moderate intellectual disabilities remains trapped in his problems, becoming only an object of curiosity at first and then forgotten in his role as different?
Who will compensate him for the injury done in the name of a misunderstood equality of rights?
We already know that forced integration has caused great harm and has borne no good fruit for those who could not resist. Behind every school-age handicapped child there must be specialized and committed staff, support structures that allow him to progress in that long and difficult journey toward independence. The right to school, yes, to live with others, but respecting their difference and providing every necessary tool that is now lacking.
Where the handicap does not involve the child's mind or intelligence but only other areas—motor, visual, or hearing—integration into regular school becomes a right, provided it is prepared and supported by aware professionals, trained teachers, and technicians who help the instructor overcome difficulties as they arise during the year.
Only in this way can the integration question be resolved, ensuring that within schools there is room for both those more and those less affected.
Piera Cipresso, 1978
A Proud Ship
Proud ship,
departed from the farthest lands of America,
you crossed the whole sea
toward the gulf of Greece
to reach the Resurrection of the Lord.
In a shimmer of stars
you draw near with light.
A small boat breaks away
with just a few men
almost to the shore.
But that last stretch,
the shortest, is the hardest. Someone and something
must overcome the waves and rocks
of those final steps.
To reach your land, O Lord,
a small handicapped child
pulls from his pocket
a toy made for him
with a wooden spool, a stick, and a rubber band.
And You, O Lord,
welcome us to the shore.
Oreste Bertoldi, Rome, April 21, 1974
I Had the Most Beautiful Christmas!
It had been so long since I felt like this. The days before Christmas are joyful—you can feel in the air the moments of happiness that are coming. And I, surrounded by so-called normal people, have always felt alone, excluded, unable to share. But now, after so long, I felt happy—truly, unbelievably happy—able to taste such joy. And it was there, and still is.
The day before, on Christmas Eve, I went out to buy a few small gifts. I do that almost every year, but this time it was wonderful. I felt loved, accepted—even though something terrible happened to me: having a spastic son. It is not that I lack the love of my husband, my parents, my sisters. That is certain. BUT to feel accepted by all of you, the way you have done, by people who cared for us even before we knew you, made me feel secure, not an imposition among strangers.
I shared all of this with my family on Christmas night. I talked about all of you, and we all sang together the songs we learned at St. Sylvia, and Daniele and Pablo sang along, happy as could be.
A Christmas I will never forget.
This is only a small part of what I want to tell you, because if I were to express all the feelings and the joy you give me, this entire magazine would not be enough.
I embrace you all and say: thank you for being here.
One more small observation: winter is almost over, and I hardly noticed it pass. Winter has always felt terribly long to me.
Rita, 1978
A Sunday With You
Dear friends, I am a friend of Pablo, a child like you who goes to "Scuola Serena." Pablo lives in my building, and my girls are his little friends. His mother was always telling me about you, and I wanted so much to meet you. So today I am here with all of you at St. Sylvia, and I have spent a wonderful Sunday with my daughters.
Seeing you, I felt deep warmth for all of you. I discovered a new world I want to give so much to. I want to tell you about all the feelings I had, the joy I felt singing with Sergio and hearing Louis speak and sing along with all of us.
I want to thank you, because I see Pablo often and he rewards me with so many kisses. But being with you taught me that life is not about money, not about running to reach something unknown. Life is about loving and living close to one another, tasting what true happiness really is. Thank you again, friends, and I hope to see you soon to spend more hours with you and give you all the love I carry inside.
Goodbye! and a kiss to you all.