We are parents like any others. We have two children: Roberta, who is ten, and Paolo, five and a half. We live an ordinary life. The children go to school, and our days unfold peacefully—as if all those years spent moving from one hospital to another, from one specialist to the next, had happened to someone else entirely.
Yes, because Roberta is a handicapped child. When she was born, we were overjoyed. She was beautiful and looked healthy. But her birth was difficult, and the trauma left her with brain damage. We didn't notice the effects right away. They began to show themselves after a few months of life.
I remember when my husband and I first realized that Roberta couldn't sit up or do the things children her age could do, we took her to several specialists. Then came admission to a specialized hospital, where the tests seemed endless. After months of hospitalization, the hard truth: because of the damage to her brain, Roberta might never walk. That news devastated us. We had sensed something was wrong, but we were nowhere near prepared for anything so serious.
After those first days of despair, we began to think more calmly. We decided we would try everything in our power for Roberta's sake.
We brought her in for checkups every two months. She didn't make giant leaps forward, but there was always some improvement. Around age four, she still couldn't walk, but she had gotten stronger, and that pushed us to do more. Roberta did everything we asked of her. She was determined.
By five and a half, she could walk by holding onto walls and furniture. She'd let go and take a few steps on her own. That's when we decided to send her to a special school where she could be with other children. It was wonderfully positive. After a while, she learned to walk without support, to climb stairs, to be independent. Our joy knew no bounds—especially since Paolo was born around that time. Raising them together, Roberta and Paolo, made it easier for all of us to face life's difficulties.
That's when we discovered the Faith and Light community. We made friends with other families who had children with disabilities. We tried to be useful to others and learned to give more of our time to people who needed it.
The spirit of brotherhood that bound us together meant everything. Around that same time, we decided Roberta should be part of parish life. We wanted her to make her First Communion with the other children in our community.
With help from our parish priest, she began attending catechism classes. After months of preparation, she made her First Communion in May. We were deeply happy—not just for ourselves, but because Roberta had shown other parents that our children, too, are God's children.
Now Roberta is fully integrated into everything—school activities, life outside the home. As her parents, we hold the hope that she will continue to grow stronger.
We are grateful to God for giving us the strength and courage to move forward, to survive so many dark days when even our faith faltered.
Liliosa and Livio, 1979