Being a mother in Faith and Light doesn't mean being the mother only of your own child in the group. It means becoming, gradually, a mother to all the young people—especially those who, as the years pass and infirmity sets in, have lost their earthly mothers but will find them again in the next life. I have been part of Faith and Light for twelve years, and without quite realizing it, we've become an extended family. I'm a mother to the young people, but also their friend and confidant; a friend to their friends, but also their sister and mother; a friend to the other mothers, offering and receiving support and comfort, without pretense or shame. Not long ago, one of the mothers—older than the rest of us—had to accept that she could no longer care for her son because she could barely care for herself. Her eyes were full of tears as she confessed her helplessness, almost as though she needed to justify herself so no one would think she was abandoning him. It was like seeing yourself projected into a future that's near—closer, perhaps, than we'd like to admit.
Inevitably, in these moments, you think about what will happen to your child after you're gone. Not when the Lord calls, but when your own body begins to fail, slowly and inexorably.
I still don't have an answer, much as I've wrestled with the question. But when I imagine an ideal place where I see my son and the other young people thriving, content and at ease, that place has many of the qualities I find in Faith and Light.
Faith and Light is an extended family. We all become close kin, connected by warm embraces, bursts of laughter, and the gentle quarrels of brothers and sisters. Our young people seem to find fertile ground here to be "normal." They feel accepted for who they are. They feel free to be themselves. They feel valued and appreciated for what they have, not defined by what they lack.
Summer camp is one of the most beautiful moments in the Faith and Light experience. There are rules that everyone—young and old—must follow. There are chores, playtime, skits, moments for reflection. And sometimes the reflections of those we call "deficient" are so clear and sharp they seem to come from a Higher Power. To be a coordinator, you have to organize every part of the day—but then you have to be ready for it all to take a different turn. That's the beauty of Faith and Light: you never know what will happen. You wake up knowing there will be breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But in between, anything can occur.
Faith and Light is a way of living that catches you off guard. There is no monotony, no boredom. There is joy, but also the pain that is part of life—and we cannot spare our children from it. These young people remember their loved ones who have passed on with an intensity and love that time cannot heal. Our young people know nothing of shame. They have no embarrassment, as we do, about showing their feelings and their weakness.
The more time I spend with these young people, the more I realize that the ones with something missing are us.
Carla Bosco, 2018