Federico is a 27-year-old autistic young man and the eldest of four children. Because of his needs, he requires clear spatial and temporal boundaries within which to move and act. An unexpected change in his routines or habits can trigger what his family calls "incandescence"—a state difficult for those around him to manage. His family members are always careful, then, to provide "certainties" that reassure Federico, even in small daily matters.
But it has always been hard to know how long to wait for the school bus that picks up Federico. Federico also has a limited sense of how time passes, and these waits beside his mother often prove difficult. Part chance, part desperation, and certainly rooted in a deep desire to pray, Patrizia began, a couple of years ago, to recite the rosary aloud. Gradually, she moved from a single Ave Maria to three per mystery, and finally to the full rosary (sometimes two, if the bus was running late). Patrizia herself was amazed by this—thinking how hard it usually is for young men like Federico to focus on any single activity for more than five minutes, yet this one lasts at least twenty.
The rosary, with its repetition, its rhythm, and its precise measured pace, helps Federico fill an otherwise formless stretch of time with an activity deeply meaningful to both him and his mother. It has become, in a real way, a unit of measurement for time itself. Until then, the knowledge that twenty minutes would pass before the bus arrived had meant nothing to Federico, nor had watching clock hands move. Now he has something concrete—a tool to understand how long any activity might take. And he can be reassured in the face of uncertainty.
It has also become an incentive for him to act and to organize his own time independently. If he doesn't wake on schedule and get ready quickly, there won't be time to say the rosary. And it has given him a way to participate in the life of the wider world—something these young people often find, or seem to find, has little meaning for them. Federico, holding the beads himself, now decides which person or which difficulty to offer each rosary for. This small victory in autonomy traveled with him even on vacation. He managed to teach the rosary to a friend from his Fede e Luce community with whom, along with other friends, he spent time away from his family. He is careful about how the prayer is said and won't tolerate carelessness, distraction, or fidgeting. Once his mother was shifting her weight from foot to foot, her feet aching, while they said their morning rosary together. Federico turned to her with genuine reproach: "Mama, we're praying, not doing exercise!"
At first, after he learned to say the full rosary, it was hard to convince him to stop if they ran out of time before finishing. An incomplete activity meant "disorder" to him—and therefore anger. Now, he accepts calmly the idea of finishing it when he can, and he remembers exactly where they left off, even the next day. For Patrizia, it was important to find something to do together that interested them both equally. She rarely found time for prayer, with so much family to care for. Now, together—and not just to pass the time for Federico—they have found in the rosary a kind of healing practice for them both, with results that have surprised them entirely.
Cristina and Huberta, 2005