We know the shadows well.
The brutal or gradual discovery of our child's disability, the endless rounds from doctor to doctor, specialist to specialist; the search for answers: genetic inheritance from one side of the family or the other? A mistake by the obstetrician? The midwife?
The nightmare of what lies ahead: what happens after we're gone? Who will care for him? The money we've set aside—what good will it do?
Our other children: how much can we fairly ask of them? Is it right to place this painful burden on the family?
The answers we must find when he reaches adulthood and speaks to us of his desire to marry; the anger that rises up sometimes: anger at God, doubt about his goodness, about whether he exists at all; the "yes" we speak so painfully, only to question it again almost at once.
Shadows that sometimes become thick, heavy darkness. The light: we don't always see it.
Shadows that sometimes become thick, heavy darkness. The light: we don't always see it.
Shadows that sometimes become thick, heavy darkness. The light: we don't always see it.A moment of peace on the face of a child they call psychotic; the patience and gentleness of a younger brother toward his older brother with a disability; a teacher's devoted care and attention in our child's classroom; our work in an association where we discover friendship: by carrying each other's burdens, we rise above our own suffering; the discovery of our child's worth and the meaning of his life…
Light is transforming into joy what our desire for happiness refuses to accept.
- Marie-Hélène Mathieu, 1968