In December of 2000, my life changed. I took a 180 degree turn from the way I was living and started on a new path. I was practically homeless. My clothing and other important things were stashed in the back of my Hyundai Accent hatchback.
I called some college friends and told them I needed help. They dropped everything and met me at the La Quinta Inn where I was crashing. I checked out, hands shaking, hoping my Amex would go through. It did. I followed them to their home and spent the next couple of days trying to figure out where I was going to land.
My dad decided to help me, one last time.
I found an apartment in Waukegan and settled in. I spent a lot of time in Palatine, but I was young an dumb and gas was cheap, so I didn't mind driving back and forth.
One Saturday night in January of 2001, I was headed to a gathering in Hoffman Estates. I was feeling anxious and made a phone call as I drove. I connected with Jacki and she talked to me as I drove. She suggested that when I got to the gathering, I should look for a woman named Karla.
When I got there, after the gathering had concluded, I sought Karla out. We chatted for a while and she invited me to her home in Huntley. Again, I was young and dumb and didn't have a very full social calendar.
I assumed Huntley must be at the edge of the known world and back in 2000, I wasn't completely wrong. It seemed far and remote, but I followed Karla to her home.
I don't remember a whole lot of that first night. I remember the sectional couch I crashed on. She let me borrow a shirt to sleep in and I got to meet her husband, Dave.
In the morning, I got to meet her kids. They were fairly young at the time. Tara was maybe 6 or 7, Kayla was 4 or 5, Joshie was 2 and Noah was a baby.
I want to say I made an instant connection with Joshie, but I'm not sure that's 100% accurate. I don't really remember the exact moment that we bonded, but over the next few months, I spent more and more time at their yellow house.
Joshie would announce to the house that Sue's green car was there. He was always happy to see me.
He had his struggles. I know what they are now, because I have two boys who struggle in the same way he did. He wasn't diagnosed back then, but he he had outbursts, he struggled with impulsivity, he had very set ideas about how things should happen.
But I also saw how much and how deeply he loved those around him. I saw that he was thoughtful and intelligent and sweet. He would seek me out at events. He felt comfortable with me. I changed his diapers and helped him get dressed for the day and feed him. Not every day, but when I was there, I helped out.
I remember an instance where there was a Thanksgiving day gathering. It was for a bunch of us and our families to come together before the holiday started. We were able to take a walk and visit with one another before facing what, for some of us, was a stressful day.
This happened every year, but the year I'm thinking of, Joshie wanted to hold my hand and walk with me. He didn't want to ride in the stroller, he didn't want me to carry him. He wanted to walk with me. I, of course, had different expectations of how the morning would go. I didn't have my own children yet, even though Joshie felt like a son. I remember being impatient, but when Joshie made up his mind about something, that was the end of it.
Everyone else walked at a normal pace and passed us until it was just Joshie and me, walking along on a crisp November morning.
I wish I could remember what we talked about, if we talked at all. I will never forget his little hand in mine, his feet hitting the walking path.
Over the years, as my life started to unfold, I spent less and less time at the yellow house in Huntley. I was busy dating my husband, working and trying to continue on my own journey. I would still see Joshie from time to time at different parties. It was good to see him and we would talk. He had a very distinct way of speaking that included a small stutter. Again, I don't know why this is something I remember, but it's stuck with me all these years later.
A bunch of us traveled to Cape Cod in 2003 for vacation. It was a mixed bag--some people had a great time, others didn't. Joshie and his family were there. One day, we all went to the beach together. Which one? Not sure. It had sand and the ocean.
We all settled in and laughed when Dave took a ride far out into the Atlantic on a floatie. The kids played and Joshie drifted over to us. He spent a lot of time digging in the sand. He would show different rocks he found to Brian, who would in turn tell him that every rock was a different fossil.
"What's this rock?," Joshie would ask.
"Oh, that's a sabre tooth tiger fossil," Brian would say with confidence.
The whole thing was comical and I remember telling Brian that Joshie was going to go to school and show off the "fossils" he found at the beach in Cape Cod.
Joshie explained his voyage to the Cape by saying that his family got on a plane, flew around in circles, landed, and then he and his family drove all the way to Cape Cod.
In the mornings, he would travel to the different cottages where people were staying. Liz remembers that he would ask her for "the ceweal that makes chocwate miwk." (Cocoa Puffs)
Again, not important things but these are the things that have stuck with me, all these years later.
Brian proposed to me and we started preparing for our wedding. We went to great lengths to make sure we involved people that had meant a lot to us over the years. Our flower girl was Jacki's daughter, Erika. We asked our friends' daughter, Allie, to help people with the guest book. The ring bearer? Who else but Joshie.
I was talking with Dave the other night and he told me that Joshie was so proud to be a ring bearer. My wedding is kind of a blur and I feel bad that I didn't take the time (or don't remember taking the time) to check on Joshie. It touches me that he was so proud. It affirms that I made the right choice.
As Brian and I started our lives together as a married couple, I lost touch with Joshie and his family. I would still see them from time to time, but the length of time between seeing him kept stretching.
A few years ago, I ran into Joshie at a Super Bowl party someone was hosting. He was in high school and talking about college. He wanted to pursue theater. I knew that he was active in the theater scene. I remember that I wanted to see him in something, but I could never get my act together to find out where or when he was performing. That and three small kids kept me busy enough that I never did get to see him on stage.
After that, I got to see him for his sister Kayla's high school graduation party. I arrived at the party late, which I regretted but also gave me a chance to visit with Tara, Kayla and Joshie at length.
We reminisced about the time we had spent together all those many years ago. We remembered the time we went to an Irish festival and Joshie had gotten away from us. It was terrifying for me and for Karla. I remember, or I should say, Tara helped me remember that when we found him, he was flanked by two police officers that were each holding a pint of Guinness. Now that I'm a parent, I can tell you that the terror I felt while we frantically searched for him meant that I deeply loved and cared for him.
I found out then that he had gotten a diagnosis of autism. There was a lot I wanted to know but felt awkward asking about. He would be graduating soon and I knew I would see him for that. When I mentioned I would see him at his graduation party, I remember him saying he hoped he would see me before then.
I did, in fact, see him for his graduation party. It was good to see him, but he was flanked by his friends and I felt awkward trying to make conversation with him. I had heard that he would be moving to Manhattan to pursue his love of theater. I was excited for him to have an opportunity to pursue his passion.
It never occurred to me to follow him on social media. When he graduated, I was just shy of 40. I figured the last thing he wanted was a minivan-driving mom to be following his comings and goings.
This past Saturday, Brian got a phone call. It wasn't at an odd time of day, but I could tell from his face and the way he was talking that it wasn't good news.
Joshie was gone. I won't get into the particulars of how he died. They are still investigating and it isn't my story to tell.
Having never lost a child, I can't speak to the level of grief Dave must be feeling. I can say, however, that I am broken at the loss of this young man.
I told him at Kayla's graduation party that he would forever be Joshie to me. I felt I had earned the privilege because I changed his diapers. He laughed at me and said it was okay. It feels funny to hear people talking about Joshua or Josh passing, because in my mind, I still see the tow-headed, curly-haired boy with big cheeks. I remember the times we snuggled together on his couch, or the times I comforted him.
Dave's family has seen an outpouring of love from the community that is humbling. Not everyone knew him intimately, but those that did remember him fondly.
Saturday night, I took Jeremy, Doug and Brooklyn over to Dave's house. So much of the house is the same and walking in, it felt like a long-overdue homecoming. I felt superfluous and couldn't figure out where I belonged or what I should do. So I did what I had learned to do at that house--be of service to those around me. I restocked the fridge with water, I made sure that Dave and Leeann sat and ate something, I reminisced, I cried, I hugged.
I spent the last couple of days finding Joshie on social media. I discovered that he was an activist, that he loved being in Manhattan and he loved being part of his community there. He has dealt with a tremendous amount of loss over the past year. I am not sure that he ever came to terms with all of it. Reading what he wrote, I saw maturity and wisdom, but also a little boy who had been hurt and was trying to make sense of all that had happened.
When we were over at Dave's house, I gave Jeremy my phone so that he wold be occupied. Doug was obsessed with Tara's dog, who really wasn't fond of Doug. They attempted to isolate the dog, but Doug is hard to dissuade when he's made a decision.
As we were leaving, I couldn't find Doug. One of the girls there told me he had been upstairs almost the whole time. When I went to find him, he was playing on Zach's Nintendo Switch. Zach explained later that in trying to isolate the dog, they had to find a way to distract Doug, so he gave him the Switch. I was touched by this small gesture. Here are kids dealing with a huge loss and yet they saw fit to be kind to my son, who is a little bit different. They could've tried to find me, but they worked it out. I was able to visit with and be of service to people without worrying about Doug getting into something he shouldn't.
I have felt like a zombie the past few days. I am torn because I want to be at Dave's house. I feel a draw to be there. At the same time, I want to give them the space they need to process and heal. The weather yesterday and today has been gloomy and that's not done much to help my mood. I cried a lot on Saturday and Sunday. I have teared up here and there in chatting about his loss with friends.
I struggle with being selfish and self-centered. I'm trying to find my spot in the ending to Joshie's story. I know I'm not an official part of his family, but I do feel like I was part of it for a while. I know many feel the same way. The thing about loss is that it lingers. There will be plenty of time to visit Dave and his family. The loss will still be as heavy in six months as it is now.
Zach is involved in theater. I have committed to myself that I will not miss a chance to see him perform. Talking with him the other night was great therapy. He looks a lot like Joshie and his mannerisms are similar. I don't want to intrude on his life, but I am going to do what I can to participate more actively.
Joshie's funeral is coming up this weekend. I can't even believe that it's happening. It's not the way things are supposed to happen. Parents are not meant to bury their children. I have been praying for this family. I hope that they allow God to knit back the pieces of their hearts. There will always be a piece that is missing, but I know that they will work hard to come together as a family and find a new way forward.
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