While preparing a Faith and Light summer camp, we learned of several handicapped children living in a Rome foundling home. We went to meet them. There were eight then, ranging from two to six years old. Their situation was strange: what were they doing there among newborns only a few months old? And what were they waiting for? Some, the less severely disabled, had been adopted. The others were waiting for a family—and what if that family never came?
We decided to take two of them on vacation with us. When the camp ended and all the other children went home to their families, we understood how painful it was for them—and for us—to bring them back to the institution. That's when Guenda said: "We have to find them a home, no matter what it takes."
The path ahead was long and difficult, but nothing stopped Guenda. Fabio and Maria were waiting—Fabio with his restlessness and his fierce desire to live despite his face, marked harshly by disease: congenital malformations of the face, hands, and feet; Maria, who retreated deeper and deeper into isolation, labeled "autism," wandering lost among the cots in search of solitude. Now, for a year, they have lived at the Chicco.
Fabio and Maria came to us—we did not choose them—answering a deep longing in our hearts: to form a "small family" with children bearing disability, among the poorest; those living in foundling homes.
We waited for them. But waiting did not mean sitting idle. It meant finding a house, preparing it, seeking help, and finally welcoming them—Fabio and Maria.
We are happy to live at the "Chicco" and we want to say: "Come and see!" We say this especially to young people who perhaps carry, unspoken, this desire to share their lives with the smallest ones. It is possible. You only have to believe.
A small white house, built simply, surrounded by generous grounds—a wonderful space for everyone, even for chicks and Fabio's little black dog—became the home of Fabio and Maria on December 11, 1981. Little by little, they learned every corner of it, came to love it as "their" house, opened it to friends and visitors. Simply, they learned to live there.
Much effort and great patience were needed for each of us to learn to live with three others. It is simple, but it is not easy. You must learn to forgive many times, and to be forgiven.
At first there were plates flying through the air like balloons, thrown by Fabio; there were Maria's screams, unsure if this really was "her" house and determined to keep everyone out; and our two different sensibilities seeking common ground. But underneath it all was always that strong desire to choose each other, to learn to live together. And so, little by little, that desire took shape as mutual respect, patience, and forgiveness.
Read also: The Chicco, an Arche group home
Life at the Chicco is the life of any family with children. During the day, Fabio and Maria attend a special school. Guenda and I do our best to keep house and work a little, so our personal expenses don't burden the household budget. When Fabio and Maria return from school by van, it's snack time, then games in the garden or visits from friends near and far, a trip to buy milk or a newspaper at nearby shops, a walk to the playground, or a visit to the barber for a haircut. Sometimes we would prefer a moment of quiet, but Fabio is always there, ready to remind us of the need—and the joy—of welcome. Every person who arrives is greeted by him as a friend.
As for Maria, we watch, enchanted, the awakening of her tenderness, which shows how every child needs to be received as unique in someone's heart.
Then there are the weekends with Faith and Light group gatherings, times when another family welcomes us and we celebrate together.
Prayer is important at the Chicco. The truth is, this home exists because every day we receive the strength to face difficulties, to look with tenderness at each person, to choose a life like ours—that strength comes from the presence of the Lord. He, who invited us and proposed that all four of us live together, waiting for others whose hearts he is preparing, gives us the necessary strength at every moment. He is present in our small chapel, where each evening "the chicco" gathers to give thanks and find trust in a time of song and prayer.
We almost saw this dialogue made visible one day when, gathered together and reading the Gospel passage "Knock and the door will be opened," Fabio, who was listening while sucking his thumb, stood up, went to the tabernacle, knocked twice on the small door, turned to us with a serious face, then knocked again, went back to sit on his little tree stump and resumed sucking his thumb—never knowing how deeply his simple gesture had moved us.
Our house is large enough that we have been able to welcome another handicapped child several times when his parents needed rest. We hope to continue offering this temporary welcome whenever it is possible.
We don't know what the future holds, except that we are working to connect the Chicco to an existing organization—for everyone's good. From the beginning, a support team of skilled people has helped us remain faithful to the commitment we made to the children in every way. And because we are part of the Church, as members of the Christian family, we seek to build strong ties with our parish and with the Church authorities.
What more is there to say? Our life is too simple to be a source of commentary. We are happy to live at the "Chicco" and we want to say: "Come and see!" We say this especially to young people who perhaps carry, unspoken, this desire to share their lives with the smallest ones. It is possible. You only have to believe.
- Anna Da and Guenda Malvezzi, 1983
Read also: What is the Arche
