We Mothers at Simplon
I want to tell you about the time I spent at Simplon during a training week for Fede e Luce. By God's grace, I was there.
It came at the end of August, when the urge for a vacation had faded and I needed to be alone with myself. The place was perfect: around the ancient and extraordinary Simplon Hospiz where we stayed, eternal snows from the glaciers crowned the landscape, feeding streams so cold and clear they tumbled down countless little waterfalls. When they grew tired of their play, they settled into natural basins, forming those characteristic alpine lakes.
I was surrounded by so many young people bound by one thing: a great love of life, and a fierce determination to pull others into their joyful whirlwind—those who couldn't manage on their own. How beautiful. That's what it means to taste life as it really is.
There were five of us mothers, keeping pace with the busy schedule of daily activities without breaking stride. We didn't hold back at the mountain climb—not the highest peak, but close—nor at the vigorous dancing or the late-night singing. We were delightful, if I may say so! Always smiling, always carrying the happiest image of our children far away.
But above all there was the word of the speakers—calm yet sure, strong yet gentle. We all agreed: it's necessary to be renewed, but that's only possible when it's rooted in something real, something with history, something that becomes a teacher and nourishment.
— Vittoria Episcopiello — Bari
Three Treasures of Siblings
Hello to all of you, friends with countless faces and countless stories. Reading old issues of Ombre e Luci, I felt the urge to introduce myself.
I'm Luciana, a young woman like many others who lives with disability in family and at work. I'm twenty-nine. I've been blessed with three treasures for brothers and a sister: Enzo, the oldest, who went to be with our Father eighteen years ago. Giorgio, thirty-one. Cristina, twenty-five. All three are severely handicapped from a postnatal encephalitis.
Their presence is precious, rich with meaning, with humanity and mystery. They're the finest teachers I've ever known. Many times, looking around, I've felt suffocated by sadness, loneliness, pain. A question hammered inside me again and again: why so many? Why did I get health?
The answer came only through faith, only in prayer and listening to God's word.
How many times I've cried out to them: "Why don't you speak?" But the light of faith made me hear their voice. Yes. Giorgio and Cristina are the living Gospel for me now. Sweet, sensitive, innocent, joyful people who receive life as a gift and embrace Christ's cross with open arms.
They don't speak with words, but with their whole bodies—with smiles, glances, affection. They don't walk, but they help others walk who humbly draw near, sharing peace and simplicity. They don't run, but they follow with a gaze that's patient, deep, and humble. They don't feed themselves, but they nourish others with genuine humanity who sit beside them. They don't cry, but they suffer in silence, all their lives, wrapped in a bed or a wheelchair.
Of course, their lives—like so many others—are long to tell. A book wouldn't be enough. Every day holds suffering and joy, sacrifice and loss and gain. A life so paralyzed, seen through the lens of perfectionism and success, could only be a failure and a waste. But seen with Jesus, it takes on full meaning. It becomes Beatitude.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek… Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."
— Luciana Spigolon
I See My Children So Sad
It's been a long time since I got your kind letter, and I should have answered sooner, but you know how things pile up in our families. The kids were sick first, then I fell and broke my right arm. Now as I write, I'm ill—picked up a wretched bronchitis. As they say: the sick don't lack for flies.
We don't have any organizations here yet to take our case on, and I really wish something would come of it—something to look after our children, who need it so much. I see my children so sad because they feel abandoned. They want a car with a driver to take them around. Then they'd be different people, kill the time, forget their suffering. But that takes young people. My husband is seventy-seven and can't manage it. I turned seventy-one this month and I'm plagued by so much—just a bit of cold and my lungs close up. I'm no good to anyone. I've fought so hard for these children, worked like a slave, and for thirty years I cared for my sick mother too. I prayed and wept desperately, afraid my exhaustion would rob me of the hope to fulfill my mission, my duty as a mother and a daughter. But by the grace of the Virgin, who gave me strength and patience, I carried it through with dignity.
I wish every Christian would do their duty toward their children and their parents. When I think about it, I feel like I'm going mad. This society today is so twisted—parents abandoned, disabled children abandoned, neglected like dogs. We should be ashamed.
Forgive me for writing you a will, but it's not me speaking. It's my heart.
When Ombre e Luci was published, many kids wrote to Lucia and Luigi. A family from Cuneo sent a package of bonbons, the big chocolate ones.
You said you'd make a referral to the Caritas in Cosenza for me. We never saw anything. Greetings from all of us to everyone at the magazine.
— Marietta Martino
Dear readers, please keep writing to Lucia and Luigi and send them lovely postcards. We will continue to seek concrete help for our dear friend here and for her children.
A Holiday Village for Disabled People
Warm greetings to all of you at Ombre e Luci.
I was delighted to receive your magazine. I think it's a wonderful support for all those families living with disability.
The testimonies are very useful—the problems, the struggles these mothers and families face.
But perhaps what's missing is the hope, the joy, the peace that comes from knowing these people. They have so much to teach all of us.
I was fortunate to discover this world through a Bologna cooperative called Simpatia e Amicizia (Sympathy and Friendship). I'm always grateful to God for that wonderful meeting. I'm sending you some information about the cooperative and the village they've been able to build with God's help. It's a beautiful place for a holiday, and it might interest your readers.
— Catia
For those interested, here are some details about the Village.
Pastor Angelicus Barrier-Free Village, created for people with disabilities—children, young people, elderly—and for their families, friends, and companions. Address: Frazione Portolani di Savigno (BO) — Tel. 051/670.61.42. Located in the Bologna Apennines at 700 meters elevation. Bologna office: Via Barberia, 24 — Tel. 051/32.25.81.
The Village offers short-term hospitality on a rotating basis year-round in furnished apartments with kitchen, living room, and bathroom. Guests manage themselves, with the option of using the restaurant. Stays are organized by the Village community especially in summer and during Christmas and New Year holidays. During these periods, school groups stay and share the life of the Village.
Write to Me: I'm Alone
Hello everyone,
I'm Michela, eleven years old. I'm not mentally ill, but I can't walk. I move with crutches and holding onto tables. Like Silvia's family, I'm alone. Nobody comes to see me. When someone does come, it's to give me charity or to take advantage of me. I knew a boy who instead of caring about me wanted lunch and dinner and presents. Or people who just wanted to poke into our business.
Sometimes church ladies come to say the rosary and sing mass. My mother asks if their daughters can come play with me. They say to pray—God will take care of it. But where is God?
I believe in him, but only so much. Because if God loved me, he wouldn't have put me in this mess. My father says: "They pray for the dead and bury the living."
Sometimes I hear the intercom and I jump with joy. But usually it doesn't last long—it's people upstairs without keys asking to be buzzed in. I think: "Why don't they get their friends to open the door?" Friends, I call them, though everyone just uses each other. Lina from upstairs comes by every so often. She's very strict about clothes, that's all she talks about.
There's this girl who was my desk mate and cried all the time. When they moved her seat, she stopped crying.
That's why I'm writing. I want Silvia and her brother and everyone else with physical disabilities who reads Ombre e Luci to write to me. I want lots of pen pals, even from other countries. You could write me in English.
— Michela Napoleoni
Dear Michela, thank you for your honest letter. You've said so much about the disappointment of having few visits from friends your age. I think more will come—but only if you learn to accept others with their limits and their faults. Nobody's perfect. I hope some young readers will reach out to you.
You Can't Imagine
I haven't received Ombre e Luci for over a year. Money troubles kept me from renewing my subscription. But I'm still devoted to it. I miss it terribly. I read and reread the old issues I keep.
In a letter I once wrote you about my experience at home, living closely with my sister Anna Maria, who's been ill since she was eleven. What's changed since then? My doubts, my fears—they're still there. Fear of tomorrow, of today. Very human feelings, but filtered through faith. A faith that's awareness of the present and certainty of God's presence.
That faith pushed me to do something. At year's end our church organized a congress for young people. I went with an idea. I set up a small stand selling greeting cards for young Christians to exchange. I raised 320,000 lire. But what I really cared about was spreading awareness of disability among the young. Shyness kept me from speaking publicly. But at the stand, among other disability magazines, I had Ombre e Luci. You can't imagine my joy when kids came up to buy and asked me about the magazines.
I collected these addresses and I'm sending them to you—people who want to subscribe or who took the address to do it themselves.
To finish, I'll share part of a letter I got a few days ago from a boy I met at the congress. He wrote: "And especially I thank you for letting me share in the love you have for disabled young people. You know, when I read the magazines you gave me, I cried. Reading stories of kids so different, with so many problems, I couldn't understand how people could be so detached. I thought I was fine with myself because of the work I do at church. But then I understood—I'm the one who needs him. And I can do so much more for him. This is a promise I'm making to myself and to the Lord. His name is Mario. He's been in a wheelchair since birth. He doesn't speak, but he makes himself understood with gestures. For all of this, I'm grateful for those magazines you let me read. Thank you."
— Enza Cavaliere
Thank you for the example you set and hope others will follow it. Don't worry about your subscription. You're back on our roster now. That's what sustaining subscriptions are for.