After meeting an autistic child at the kindergarten she ran in Rome, Ingrid gave herself entirely to serving people in need.
Following training in "Curative Pedagogy" that built on her background in medicine and drama, and after various initiatives, in 1989 she founded Casa Loïc: a school-workshop for adolescents and young adults with disabilities, (see Ombre e Luci, n. 1-1994). With her support came Casa Maria Grazia in 1998, (see Ombre e Luci, n. 4-1999).
The text that follows was read by a father at Ingrid's memorial service last July. It captures something of the spirit and skill with which she worked.
To offer my testimony is something I owe to a person like Ingrid.
I will recall just two moments, among many, from these eight years that changed my life.
The first dates to September 1993, when I met Ingrid for the first time. It was a difficult period. We were desperate at home. When we arrived at Casa Loïc that afternoon—it was very hot—no one was there, yet what I felt was not loneliness but peace. The place had a simple, honest quality. Ingrid waited for us in the little wooden house and welcomed us with her smile. She listened to our story without flinching, even when Chiara spoke harshly, and she offered us a trial month.
Walking out after that conversation, I knew we had found the right place for my daughter. Ingrid's smile, her calm, the inner strength she possessed and somehow gave to us—it was like a lifeline appearing when we thought all was lost. And over these eight years, it proved real.
The second moment, which I remember as if it were yesterday, happened in spring 1995. For the first two years, we drove Chiara from Rome to Casa Loïc every day, taking turns with Primula and Enrico. Each visit felt like the first one all over again—difficult, complicated. But Chiara was growing in that place, maturing quietly, and we barely noticed. One spring morning, we arrived at Casa Loïc. Chiara refused to get out of the car because of some small frustration. Ingrid came to meet us and spoke with her, but there was only an explosion of rage and tears—damage to my car, and Chiara running desperately toward the fields.
My first instinct was to chase after her, to comfort her, to protect her. But Ingrid said to me: "Paolo, go to work. Chiara is not a child anymore. She is an adult and she understands. Comfort won't help. She must find the strength inside herself to fight her own battles." Then she closed the car door and walked toward Chiara.
Thank you, Ingrid. We will not forget.
- Paolo Salvini, 2002
