A few days ago I ran into Franco, and he looked exhausted and worried. He told me he'd been to the neighborhood health clinic, and after waiting in a long line, he couldn't get his mother a cardiology appointment. He'd have to go back the next day with some additional certificate or other.
I often see Paolo standing on the wide pavement in front of his family's shop, watching over his little nephew asleep in the stroller or exploring the world around him. Sometimes his older nephew is left in his uncle's care too, riding his tricycle in a larger open space nearby. I think of Stefania, too—living in an Umbrian village with her mother after her beloved father died suddenly. Alone, she has managed through her gentleness and peace of mind to comfort her mother, to restore her strength to go on living, helping her build new relationships and genuine friendships in this new place, far from the city where she had always lived.
There are so many young people—or rather, so many adults living with some form of disability, whether mild or severe—who, when their parents' lives begin to decline, step into a new role for their loved ones.
While their siblings are far away, absorbed in their own lives; while their mothers' and fathers' strength fades and loneliness threatens to creep in; these children, who were once a source of great worry and hardship, almost without thinking about it, almost naturally, become an essential support and companionship in daily life that grows simpler and more repetitive with each passing day. These children, who have no anxieties about work or careers, who have no new attachments to pursue—over the years they have learned so much about how a household runs. They know their parents deeply, have always shared in their most intimate lives. And who better than they to understand and forgive the small frailties and weaknesses that come with age?
Just as parents have grown accustomed to their children's limits over the years and scarcely notice them anymore, so too do these children, with the same natural ease, adapt to the new rhythms of family life, to the difficulties and small needs of aging mothers and fathers, to the repetition of small gestures and small services that can help them.
It is like what happens after a long day of stormy weather: toward evening, the sky clears. Sitting quietly on the threshold or terrace of home, we enjoy a sunset and twilight that are calm and serene.
Pennablù, 2009