Once upon a time there was a young, happy couple. They had got married and life smiled at them, full of promises. To fulfil their dreams, a child arrived in their life. It was the child they had wished: beautiful, healthy and he was growing up fast. He was their pride and they began dreaming about his future: his first day of school, how his father would teach him to ride a bike, how he would use his talents, how he would have a family and his parents would raise the grandchildren.
Everything seemed perfect. However, as the child grew, some signs nudged their souls. Their perfect child seemed trapped into an inaccessible world. He didn't look into their eyes, he didn't smile. He didn't raise his look when they called him, he didn't raise his arms to be hugged. He seemed to be absent most of the time. They gathered their strength and went to a doctor. Uncertainty: there were different opinions.
The parents fluctuated between the belief they were exaggerated (as some doctors had told them) and the feeling that something was wrong. The diagnose hit them hard: AUTISM. SHOCK. TERROR. DENIAL. "This cannot happen to us! This is not possible! Then they began blaming themselves: "We have done something wrong! God is punishing us!" Then they rebelled: "Why, God, why?" Then they became desperate and dismayed: the time passed and their child was more and more different than other children. Their whole world collapsed. They had no more things to lean on. "Will our child be helpless all his life? What about our hopes?" Everything they had built for him was falling apart. "What will happen to him, when we are no longer here?" They looked around for support, but nobody could help them. Everybody shook their heads with pity; they thanked God it hadn't happened to them.
They went to a specialist. Intense therapy was recommended, urgently. They were told their child could be recovered. They saw a silver lining. Maybe it wasn't as severe as they had thought. They enthusiastically began therapy for their child. The progress was slow. It was a progress, though. Their child learned they were mom and dad. He began looking at them when they called him. He sat down when he was asked to. He started imitating simple moves. They smiled again: it wasn't all lost, their baby was recovering. Unfortunately, their financial resources were consumed; and not only theirs, but also the resources of their relatives and close friends. This heaven-sent therapy was very expensive, because it was intense, long hours every day.
They searched the support of the Romanian state, as their child had special needs. They soon discovered the Romanian state couldn't help them; it had no money and no strategies. They were too exhausted to revolt, they realised they needed to save their energy to find solutions for their child. They begged, they humiliated themselves, they were rejected, ignored, sent from one place to another. They swallowed their pride and continued, because their child is more important. And if they do all in their power, maybe one day their child will attend school. Maybe he will look into their eyes and tell them he loves them. They feel their child has that special something and they need to find the way to his soul. And they will get to know him and life will be beautiful again!