I Haven't Forgotten You
I love to travel whenever I get the chance—I'm happiest then. My name is Giovanni, and I'm almost 43 years old. The idea of growing up appeals to me, but it frightens me too, because I can't afford to make mistakes anymore. I'm part of the Girasole community, like many people I know: Norina, Emanuela, Alessandra, Sara, Antonia, Paola, Federica, Emanuele, Carlo, and others. I care about them deeply, and I believe my silences speak louder than a thousand wrong words. People from other communities know me too, because they've had the chance to see me and hear my voice.
When I get in the car, I stay quiet and let the people near me talk. I find it hard to make conversation. But once we arrive at our destination, I open up—I joke, I smile, I do what's planned. I sing the songs from the songbook. The song I love lives in my heart, along with a million friends. I've been to Penna in Teverina. That place feels familiar because I know the rooms, where the kitchen is, the courtyard out front where we play.
Then I discovered another place: Bicoca. I've been there, lived there, on more than one occasion—at New Year's, on weekends, and for a summer camp. I loved their hospitality and welcome. I felt good with everyone. Around the farmhouse there's green space, a pool, cats, roosters singing. Compared to years ago, I talk more now. With age, shyness fades. If you want it to, you can improve—it just takes willpower to do everything.
Giovanni Grossi
Goodbye, Silvana
As your final days were unfolding, I dreamed of someone dear to us who had recently returned to the Father. She was telling you: "You did everything right. Don't be afraid."
It's true. Your life was well spent. In school and in your special family—always open to all of us who have the gift of drawing from the wellspring of Grace embodied in Giacomo.
You understood him, cherished him, and loved him at every moment as you would treasure the Eucharist in the tabernacle. And you loved in the same way those who never envied the good you shared.
How much suffering you transformed into welcome, celebration, pesto pasta, and joy! No matter how many problems came, how dark the moments, there was always someone worse off to help. You never turned away.
Your prayer before meals was: "Lord, give bread to the hungry and hunger for justice to those who have bread." With passionate energy, you fought for the smallest voices, for those without a say. You fought many battles—even lost causes—guided by an instinct to keep always steering toward the center.
What will we miss: your laughter, your legendary chaos. But most of all, your steady hand when we doubted, your attention and care in the smallest things.
More than once you asked that we sing "Gracias a la Vida" at your funeral. Perhaps that's not possible in church, but every one of us sings it in our heart. We have no intention of sweeping up the broken pieces with our heads bowed. Instead, we want to thank you for the privilege of having you near us, to receive your precious legacy, and to try to carry it forward—with our limits and our smallness.
With your help. Because surely you're already up there, nudging Someone to light our way and walk with us.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Nicoletta and friends of Fede e Luce