OLD-SCHOOL WHEELING- FRIENDS

I wrote this article for The Phoenix on May 25, 2007. It's one of my favorites..

 Tim grew up in Phoenixville and still lives here. He has seizures, which are better, but which still occur from time to time

. We went to school together as kids. There was a school on Marshall Street in Norristown for disabled kids. Back in the 1960s, it was sort of a revolutionary idea to have a school that was all on one floor, and was accessible with ramps. It was before the days of so called “regular” schools being accessible to the disabled, and having kids with special needs integrated into the same classroom with able-bodied students.

 A taxi took Tim and I back and forth to Norristown every day, as with several other Phoenixville kids who attended that special school.

 We had fun in the cab each day, laughing and joking with each other and the driver. Tim always sat in the middle of the backseat. I was always in the front, next to the driver, probably because of my brittle bone condition.

 Tim was like my big brother. He was taller, able to walk, and looked after me. Most of all, he had a great sense of humor and kept everyone laughing, despite our various aches and pains.

 What I always remember about Tim was that he never complained about his challenge in life. He was happy and always smiling. He made the best of what he faced

. I still remember his mom, waving to the cab each morning, standing in her doorway on Vanderslice Street as we pulled away.

 When we both got out of the school in Norristown, we lost touch. He was able to still attend school, while I had teachers at home, and later, an intercom system hooked up from my bedroom to the classroom.

 At the time, my condition was still too fragile to attend school, plus the local school wasn’t accessible to a disabled person

. Flash ahead a good 15 years or so. I had earned a degree from West Chester University in social work and was working at the then Phoenixville Manor nursing home. Tim had gotten a good job at the Great Valley Corporate Center, where he still works

. As fate would have it, out of the literally hundreds of residents and families I worked with during my years at the Manor, Tim’s mom needed to be placed there. Hence, I saw Tim often, along with his dad, Barney McCann, a well-respected former policeman in town, and a great guy. Tim and his father visited Mrs. McCann often, and we would talk about the old days of school.

 Tim’s mom passed away at the nursing home. Ironically enough, I was her social worker. I remembered her still waving to that taxi cab each morning from her house. Ironic how things work out

. Flash ahead another ten years or so. Mr. McCann became ill, and his beloved family considered placement for him, for his extensive medical needs

. Again, fate stepped in, as now I was working at Parkhouse Providence Pointe in nearby Royersford (formerly known as the Montgomery County Geriatric Center, where I still work). Again, Tim crossed my path, but before Mr. McCann was admitted there, he died

. Just recently, Tim came back into my life again. It had been four years since his father’s passing. We had lost touch again. I thought he was living with his brother or one of his caring sisters. Time moves on, and sadly, one doesn’t always have the time to keep in touch. Everyone has their own lives to lead.

 But then I saw in The Phoenix that Tim’s brother had died unexpectedly at a young age. I immediately thought of Tim, and wanted to send him a sympathy card, but didn’t know where he was

. Once again, destiny took over. I ride to work via paratransit, and one day I noticed Tim’s name on the list of passengers before me in the morning. I asked the driver about this guy, and wondered if it was the same guy I had known practically all my life

. The driver showed me where Tim lived - an apartment complex in town. It had to be him! So I asked the driver to please send my best wishes to Tim, and my condolences about his brother. That was that.

 Several days later my phone rang in the evening. It was Tim! He looked up my number and called me. I was so happy he did.

 The really ironic thing about this whole story is, for four years, after his father’s death, Tim had literally been living in his own apartment, only a block away from my house!

 We talked about old times, exchanged phone numbers, and promised to keep in touch

. Isn’t it funny, how certain special people in life cross your path, people that maybe God is reminding you to stay in touch with?

 Tim is doing well, despite the occasional seizures. He has a very supportive family and still has that great sense of humor, spirited laugh and positive attitude about life despite all of his hardships in life.

 He has coped well. This time, I’ve promised to keep in touch, and I will see him soon. There is always a reason.