D2nt Long Periods Between Games

A VOICE IN THE SILENCE

( In the photo, the cover of the book by Daoud Hari)

Chi di voi non conosce mia figlia Lara, chi di voi non ha ricevuto da lei un sorriso, un bacio, un abbraccio affettuoso. Lara è una ragazza affetta dalla sindrome di Down. Da quando è arrivata al mondo, ho cercato con tutto il mio amore e con l’enorme aiuto dei medici e di terapisti, di migliorare la sua situazione. In tutti questi anni, ho sempre sperato e pregato tanto di riuscire a superare i momenti difficili. Il cammino verso il suo inserimento nella società è stato pieno di ostacoli, affrontati insieme, e sempre con coraggio. Giorno dopo giorno, ogni suo piccolo progresso è stato per me motivo di immensa gioia. I costanti miglioramenti di Lara, mi hanno dato la forza di andare forward, to fight, to give up. For about three months, all my sacrifices and its brilliant progress, seem to vanish into thin air. Lara has a strong depression, become more and more melancholy, no longer joking, smiling, talking. Suddenly he found great difficulty in accepting his "difference" and it has created around himself an impenetrable space where the imagination makes her every wish. It was closed in his own reality, rejecting the external environment. For me it started again the anxiety and anguish of listening to medical diagnosis, the desperate hope of trying every solution that will allow Lara to exit the tunnel, sadness to imagine a future for her dark and full of unknowns. Everything that I built with you, you are grinding inexorably, and perhaps this time, God forgive me, I do not know if I have the strength to fight to get back to in fondo.Lara slammed the door in his face to the world, and I keep hoping in vain to knock it open and she came back smiling. The affection of the family is important, but often not enough. My daughter needs to socialize and have fun with the boys of his age. Sometimes I read in his face the bitterness of believing forgotten the disappointment of not being able to do everything for others his age is normal. Other parents are experiencing the same problem and many of them are alone, resigned and found it extremely difficult to ask the next concrete help. Often, destroyed a thousand everyday problems, loss of sight or underestimate some sad realities around us. To think that need little to offer to many children "less fortunate" a good opportunity to live a "normal" life. For example, every association, every sports club or anyone who wants to, it could give them some small initiative. In addition, it would be wonderful to create a center in our common meeting place where people with disabilities, doing various activities (music, theater, painting, etc ...), we have the opportunity to join with people "more fortune "to them and not feel so marginalized. There is absolute need for all the work, beginning with the belief that a disability is one of us and that all men have the right and duty to live and let live.

PS This letter I have written a few years ago when Lara and 'was very bad, my faith, my strength as a mother, love for my daughter has premiata.Questo message I try to bring it to all those parents who as I live the same problem and they are left soli.Se you do not give up and take faith, God will not leave you, always watching over those who are weaker and sofferente.Un hug, Angela Musumeci Bianch pound

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Edition http://www.lafeltrinelli.it/

Daoud was born in a small village of huts, in Darfur. Round huts are spacious, with a roof of grass that smells good when it rains. And although it is years away, first to study in town, then to work in Libya, Daoud has always carried in my heart. So much so that, after many vicissitudes and dramatic, decided to go home, doing the opposite to that of millions of refugees. He was reunited with his people, his father and his brothers, especially the beloved Ahmed, just before you lose everything. One day the village was attacked, the huts Ahmed was killed and burned. He buried Daoud with his hands in the sand, before heading off into the desert with the survivors. Behind them, columns of smoke in the air scatter the ashes of houses, trees, and even the bodies of old men who were unwilling or unable to leave. Far from the limelight of the world, scenes like this happen every day in Darfur. In this region of the Sudan so poor in the rich underground area, is consumed by more than twenty years a quiet and undisturbed genocide at the hands of the same Sudanese government.