{"id":135,"date":"2013-12-10T11:29:27","date_gmt":"2013-12-10T16:29:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/tedmalexander.com\/wordpress\/?p=135"},"modified":"2014-05-30T11:28:49","modified_gmt":"2014-05-30T15:28:49","slug":"mending-a-broken-link-at-christmas","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/tedmalexander.com\/wordpress\/?p=135","title":{"rendered":"Mending a Broken Link at Christmas"},"content":{"rendered":"

Asheville Citizen-Times 12\/10\/2013 –
\n<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

The note was handed to me in the hallway as she passed heading in the other direction. I turned and watched her move away through the crowds of students.
\nI unfolded the composition paper and read the green-crayon print as I walked forward.<\/p>\n

Der Mr. Alexnr,<\/p>\n

I luv you. My mothr and me ar alon.<\/p>\n

janice<\/p>\n

The bell rang and I walked into my classroom. I glanced at her words again before tucking the paper in my pocket.<\/p>\n

At the time, I was a struggling substitute school teacher in my early twenties, self-involved, and with higher priorities than taking a focused interest in a Down syndrome child. I justified my reaction by being burdened with a complex life that included teaching, working an after-school second job, paying off my college loan, and figuring out how to scrape together the money for monthly rent. I decided that because Janice was part of a specialized middle school program, she had teachers and a core curriculum that would be appropriate. She didn\u2019t need me. It didn\u2019t matter that I had been singled out.<\/p>\n

Years later, I was paging through some old yearbooks, places where I save memorable notes, letters, cards, and I discovered, pressed between two pages, the message that had been handed to me in the hallway: I luv you. My mothr and me ar alon.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d forgotten that I had kept the note. Some instinctual and better part of me had prevailed. I left the piece of paper open on my desk at home, until, gradually, I realized I was staring at an incomplete moment in my life.<\/p>\n

What had happened to Janice?<\/p>\n

I knew that Down syndrome children now lived longer than ever\u2014into their fifties, and sometimes, beyond. I did some research, and with the help of some of the school teachers I had known, the school district, and the state, I managed to locate her. I gave her note to a social worker and she delivered it to Janice.<\/p>\n

She remembered me. I received permission to visit.<\/p>\n

Two days later, I walked into the group home, oddly nervous, then into the living room where Janice was waiting, the note resting on her lap. She looked at me from a chair next to an ancient fireplace. Her hair was gray. A brief smile crossed her face. \u201cYou got old,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I chuckled. \u201cYou\u2019re right about that.\u201d<\/p>\n

She held out her hand. I took it and sat next to her. She let go.<\/p>\n

I apologized for never responding to the note.<\/p>\n

She stared at me. \u201cThat\u2019s okay. I don\u2019t really remember writing it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t believe her.<\/p>\n

It was Christmastime. I had brought a small gift, a woolen scarf from a local store. I handed it to her. She opened the box and thanked me. She showed me a picture of herself at high school graduation.<\/p>\n

I learned that Janice worked part-time as a cashier, loved movies and played the ukulele. She had a quick mind and a funny perspective on a life that had not been gentle. I\u2019d been told in advance that she had a congenital heart defect, and after an hour, I could see she was growing weary.<\/p>\n

\u201cI should go.\u201d I rose to my feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know my mother died.\u201d<\/p>\n

This time I recognized it\u2014the same sadness as in the note. Only the words were different.<\/p>\n

I sat down again and touched her shoulder. \u201cYou\u2019re not alone, Janice. You have all your friends here.\u201d Then I surprised myself. \u201cAnd you have me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I have you?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, you do.\u201d I nodded. \u201cYes, you do.<\/p>\n

She seemed pleased.
\nThat was more than six years ago. Janice lives in another city and I visit with her frequently, but I\u2019m always in touch. Sometimes she calls me and describes her day.<\/p>\n

I realize that I\u2019ve transitioned from a former school teacher who paid no attention to her, to a surrogate father who cares.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know why she had initially singled me out, and I\u2019m unsure why people reconnect\u2014luck, perhaps coincidence, or maybe someone found a note in his high school yearbook. What I do understand is that I\u2019d been given the opportunity for a reason. I had been handed a chance to redefine myself, and in that process, fill a void in Janice\u2019s heart, just as she has filled one in mine.<\/p>\n

Der Mr. Alexnr,<\/p>\n

I luv you. My mothr and me ar alon.<\/p>\n

Janice<\/p>\n

No, you\u2019re not alone, Janice. And I love you too.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction or distribution is prohibited without permission.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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