Maria Francesca (Chicca) experienced an entirely abnormal development in her sixteen years of life: she did not speak, walk, or eat easily, and her physical condition was consistently below average.
Interestingly, there is very little discussion about fathers, even in books and writings dedicated to family and its problems. Authors primarily focus on mothers. The figure of the father has limited space even in the discussions of those who, while not writing books or essays, deal with family and its issues: doctors, psychologists, pedagogists, social workers, journalists, and, why not? Priests and men of the Church. Their interest is mainly directed towards women.
Even “Ombre e Luci2, which defines itself as a “Christian magazine for families and friends of people with disabilities”, did not make an exception. It spoke about the experience of loneliness, tested hope, vacation challenges, and welcoming a different child. It addressed the problems and difficulties of a child with Down syndrome or psychosis, the need to be strong for “them”, siblings, the “home-family”, and people “walled up in darkness and silence”… But it took until the end of the sixth year of her life to finally notice the existence of the father of a person with a disability. I don’t mean to criticize; I say this with a smile. I am a father, and I have learned to be subtle.
My daughter, who – like every woman – was knowledgeable, had her reasonable way of explaining this funny mystery. Maria Francesca consistently showed the greatest disregard for the world and the laws that govern it: to the extent that, even if she realized it, she seemed very unconvinced of the necessity of eating to survive, the convenience of sleeping, and the desirability of growing and developing after birth. Therefore, she complied with these norms with wise prudence, even at the cost of raising the alarm and concern of her parents. In the face of a human society that chatters too much and moves excessively, using all the means made available by modern technology, she wisely chose to remain silent. As for moving, she always preferred to do so with uncommon caution and only after carefully pondering whether it was actually worth it.
However, with her calm gray-blue eyes, from her place of observation, both at home and outside, she noticed every event, every thing, and every person, making reasoned observations. In fact, when we were alone and she would curl up on my chest, leaning her little golden-brown head against my cheek, she would silently communicate the results of her investigations and share her views on the situation.
“It’s natural – she told me then – for Mom to be the center of everyone’s attention when things are going well and when they all seem to be going wrong. Mother carried her baby: for nine long months, she felt him growing – flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood – in her womb; for nine long months, she talked quietly with him, just as we are doing now. She felt him move inside her: at first slowly, timidly, then stronger and stronger, with increasing confidence. She became accustomed, in those nine long months, to changing her way of life for him, to putting her own needs on the back burner, to giving up her tastes (think: eating without salt!), to putting aside her little vices, such as smoking…”
“It is during this period that that mysterious, unspeakable relationship is established, which finds its seal in the wonderful moment of birth and forever binds the mother to her child.”
“Already – I reflect to myself – father remains excluded from this tacit, affectionate bond made of flesh and blood, of renunciation and love, of apprehensions and expectations…” – Mary Frances interrupts the just-started course of my thoughts – “That’s not true—at least in part” she counters. “Instead, he participates in it because of how vivid and deep his affection and understanding are with his son’s mother. He loves her: therefore he trusts her and accepts and loves from the first moment, as his own, her son. Through her, he follows with anxiety and pride the silent and bursting forth of the new life in her womb. Out of love for her, he accepts the limitations and difficulties of the changed family situation; out of love for her, despite the awkwardness that is peculiar to the male, dad is able to prepare a cozy nest for a stranger, to acclimate himself to her…cumbersome presence, to care for him, to love him. Yes, it is right that the mother is always in the foreground.”
He is silent for a little while and then concludes, “In the family, Dad must always be present, not stand out. His role is to protect, to cover, to support; to observe, to try to understand and advise, to run for cover. To be able to listen even when he does not feel like it. It is the mother’s love that binds the father to his child. Sometimes, however, it is the love of the dad that reconciles the mom to her child.”
“Here we get into high philosophy!” I exclaim inwardly.
She merely looks up at me from the corner of her eyes. She must consider me very undiscerning. With her little finger in her mouth, she continues quietly: “When the child comes into the world and is…” — she has a moment of hesitation, as if she wants to find the right word — “…different, the mother feels involved with her whole body, with her whole heart, with her whole mind. It is she herself who calls herself into question, in the first person, for not having been able to build a child like all the others: she has not lived up to her greatest task, the one for which she herself—she knows it is so, even if she denies it—came into the world. She feels outraged in her nature, diminished in her person, betrayed in the love of the child she faithfully carried and nourished for nine months, mocked by the good God, who actually does not seem good or provident to her in those moments. In her innermost self, she feels always and in any case, she and she alone, somehow responsible for the «difference» of her child—even when she claims the opposite.”
“Then the mother closes in on herself and her drama, locks her heart and soul to everyone, including her husband, who is the father of her child: mute and petrified in her suffering world, but fiercely ready to rise against anyone in defense of that different child, whom she rejects and to whom, at the same time, she feels indissolubly bound. She covers herself with an armor of ice and rejects every manifestation of sensitive affection that may come from her husband, but which she is not in a position to accept and understand.”
To love is not to satisfy oneself. To love is to go to meet those we love, beyond reason, sense, and utility, giving them the help they need to keep their wings open—despite everything—in the sky of hope and peace.
“It is the moment when Dad must more than ever play his role. Dad, who has known his son only when his son has seen the light; Dad, who has never been able to talk to him before; who has not welcomed him into his body, who has not nourished him with his blood, but who has loved him as the fruit of his love, who has dreamed of him as a companion in leisure and work, as the true friend with whom to open up, as the realization of what he, the Dad, would have liked to be; Dad, hurt and in pain too, must have the courage to open his arms to the newborn, must have the strength to give up his expectations. Dad, who—especially when tired, discouraged, and dejected—needs it so much, must have the courage to know how to give up caresses and the closeness of his wife. He must find the spirit to remain, in short, once again in the background.”
“To love is not to satisfy oneself. To love is to go to meet those we love, beyond reason, sense, and utility, giving them the help they need to keep their wings open—despite everything—in the sky of hope and peace.”
“Dad then swallows his tears: he has no time to cry. He smiles at Mom to bring the smile back to her lips. He smiles at the different child and hugs him to his chest, to make him feel that he has come home and is loved. He takes him in his arms to make the mother understand that he is grateful to her. He surrounds him with care and affection because he knows that whoever is born of the flesh and blood of a man and a woman is a man, even if he does not seem to have the appearance. He loves him and wants to dispel any doubt for the mother. He wants to make her understand that for him, that son has an inestimable, unique value: because he is a child of God and has an immortal destiny. Because Jesus was born, suffered, died, and rose again for him.”
“Dad leaves fatigue outside the door when he returns after work. He does not seek a bit of tranquility or peace for himself. It’s not the time for that, to be tired. Mom needs rest and relaxation, not more problems. So, he talks to her serenely about his day and helps her while she takes care of the child. He lends a hand and replaces her—as much as he can—in household chores. He looks after the other children, if there are any. If he has the opportunity, he invites her to go out. He gets up at night when the baby complains: he watches over him for her when he doesn’t want to sleep.”
“Dad puts aside every dejection and doubt. You cannot be discouraged when accompanying your wife and your different child on the endless, painful pilgrimage from one doctor’s office to another. There is no possibility because you have to react against the sense of frustration and helplessness, against bitterness, pain, and revolts that threaten to overwhelm the mother, subjected as she is to what appears to her as a continuous, humiliating, always renewed trial against her. Dad must be brave, must always know how to find the right word to make her not feel alone, to give her the security and strength to continue the journey, to face reality and accept it as her own; simply, with trust.”
“Whoever has trust shows that they have faith. Whoever has trust shows that they hope. Whoever has trust shows that they love.”
“And that’s what Mom needs. And that’s what the different child needs.”
“How many know, Dad, the pain and bitterness, the loneliness, you had to live? How many know your sobs without tears, your silent cries, the desolation of your souls facing a seemingly hopeless future? How many have measured the efforts you made to quell the revolt of your soul, to overcome the temptation to abandon everything and stop fighting, to overlook the anxieties that the thought of your son and his mother’s future arouses in you? Dads don’t care, let it be known. Dads generally have great modesty about their feelings. They don’t think it’s important to talk about it; they don’t show off. And, bang, they do it only occasionally, when they really can’t take it anymore.”
“Dads are content that the smile has returned to Mom’s face and that it now shines on the whole family; that she has come out, with God’s help, from the prison in which she had walled herself and has opened the doors of her heart and home to many, many people. That she no longer has shame to go out on the street with her son. That she has become so humble and obedient as to accept with confidence the will of the Lord.”
I feel Maria Francesca’s little hand gently and lightly pass over my face.
What more do you want?
– Paolo Bertolini, 1987
