My sister's birth was certainly a "revolution" in my family's life. My parents had wanted a daughter after their sons—the "little princess," as they imagined her. But they never expected she would be handicapped. It was like a thunderbolt from a clear sky.
At first, especially my mother, studied every gesture our sister made, searching for some sign that would prove the diagnosis wrong, that she had been mistaken, that my sister was like "everyone else." The exhausting medical visits that followed only confirmed what we all feared: "Your sister is severely disabled. We can't even say if she'll make progress."
Those words were heavy and almost incomprehensible. But they weren't what hurt me most.
What truly anguished me was my "neighbor." Aunts and uncles pulled me aside several times and said something like: "I admire you. You're young. I don't know how you manage with that sister. It's impossible. You don't really live. At your age you should be carefree." I wanted to tell them: hypocrites! This is my business. If you want to help, give me a hand so I have more time to myself.
Then there were the "friends" and neighbors who, to avoid "bothering" me or "being intrusive," dodged the subject of handicap as if it were a disease.
Then the "girlfriend" who one day tells you that your family situation is unbearable and she can't handle it. One drop too many. I'd cry out: Lord, save me. I can't take this anymore. How many times did I say those words? I don't know. If I'd believed then that God gives each of us only what we can bear, I might have found more courage. Thankfully He loves me. And this "weak" sister has, paradoxically, strengthened my bond with my parents. On one hand, they saw how much I was struggling too, and they became more open and understanding toward me. On the other, I know they expect much from me for my sister's sake going forward. I feel that weight deeply, but I still don't know how to answer it.
Still, I'm convinced that the mosaic of my future must be completed with the "tiles" He gives me, day by day.
He brought me true friends through Fede e Luce. With them my struggles shrink into perspective. As the brother of a handicapped child, I become—I feel it in the Christian sense—simply a brother.