A Mother Writes About...
...Massimo, who is only three years old, faces many challenges. He cannot see yet, he doesn't speak, and only recently has he begun to take his first steps—after eight months of physical therapy at the Spastic Children's Center. We go three or four times a week. It's a real ordeal for me: the bus is uncomfortable, and I have to carry him the whole way.
But we do everything we can within our means—what little we have, materially and financially. Our faith doesn't waver. Only God can help him; we have so much hope for tomorrow. My husband and I are always there for him, and his brothers and sisters love him dearly.
Massimo understands everything—and that gives us real joy. He's always smiling, especially when we caress him. When we talk to him, his little hands beat with happiness. He loves music; we keep the radio on all day long. If it goes off, he cries.
Because he cannot see, he doesn't play with toys the way other children do. He listens to everything. I keep him in a playpen I made for him—a place where he can move comfortably and play however he wants.
Of course, there are moments of despair. Some people tell us, "What a cross you have to bear!" It hurts me to hear that, because I don't see it as a cross at all—it's a test, God's will. And I find myself sustained by a faith that gives me strength to endure even the hardest times.
— Massimo's mother, 1979
A Mother Writes About...
...Mauro is comfortable at home, in our garden. When we take him out, he becomes very agitated and restless, so we have to limit his outings.
Here in A., I know other mothers who have children like mine. I'm especially close with Nicola's mother. We're good friends, and I visit her often. We give each other comfort and strength.
Unless you've lived through it, you can't understand how deep the pain runs—the humiliation we sometimes have to endure. But we often find solace in watching our child, in his every movement, and we love him all the more for it.
— Mauro's mother, 1979