Old Friends
Dearest friends,
I learned too late that dear Mariangela had passed away. I'd started writing her a letter to apologize for my long silence. But I've been unwell—aches and pains everywhere—and I fell (eighty-seven now, officially disabled myself, and my only daughter living with me is profoundly handicapped from birth; she turned fifty-five on Ferragosto and is doing much worse than I am…). So I rewrote the letter to Mariangela instead.
Here it is.
Dearest Mariangela, we'll see each other soon, because my time on earth is drawing to a close as well.
Dear friend from so long ago, perhaps we'll start talking again about our beloved handicapped—that tender, dramatic reality. You with your smile (Ombre e Luci), and me, always angry at a State that is "deaf, blind, and differently abled"…
We ran toward the same goal for so many years, each on our own path, but parallel paths.
Dear Mariangela, see you soon, with much affection, your old friend.
Cecilia
Encounters
The photograph of Mariangela printed on the cover of the latest issue of "Ombre e Luci" is the perfect portrait of who she was: simple, genuine, welcoming, always ready to listen and to share. My first meeting with her happened at one of many gatherings among our groups, back in 1984. My husband, our son, and I had recently and somewhat hesitantly joined the San Francesco Community in Rome—we didn't yet feel entirely at home. With her smile and kindness, she wanted to know our story. She listened the way someone listens who understands deeply the struggles you're describing, like a true friend.
Our last of many meetings came at a gathering organized by "Il Carro," the group home where our son Alberto has been living for several years now. After listening with her usual care to the latest news about Alberto's life, she asked if I'd ever thought about writing down all the events that have shaped his life and how we've faced them. She was certain, she said, that our story could help other parents, and she urged me to do it.
Perhaps thanks to her suggestion, I've slowly put down on paper all those memories—a "posthumous diary" that, even if it helps no one else, has certainly helped me, bringing together the meaning of my own life. I'm grateful to Mariangela for that too.
Grazia Maria