From “Walk with Me: A Journey through the Landscape of Trauma” by Ellen Corcella
I had barely been back in New York three weeks when the phone rang.
“Barb is dying,” Tim said.
I caught a place back to Lexington in the hope I could see her one more time. I was to meet with their good friend Father Dan Noll who, ironically, was now a priest with my childhood elementary school and parish, St. Paul’s. I, the NYC prosecutor, returned to the same concrete parking lot where Ellen, the elementary student, lined up for recess, played kickball, or waited to be picked up after school.
He walked out of the rectory to greet me, the church’s landmark steeple towering above us. I felt small, frail, and fearful.
“Am I in time?”
“I am so sorry, Ellen. Barb died an hour ago.”
Barb died while I was in midair. Fr. Dan wrapped me in his huge arms as I wept on his shoulder. My dearest friend, a charismatic, big-hearted larger-than-life figure was gone in the prime of her life.
I could not make sense of her death, but I was filled with a motivating anxiety – time was of the essence. Life did not stand still while I lingered in the purgatory of self-imposed cage of loneliness. There was no time to waste. In June 1998, I made an appointment with the Spence-Chapin Services to Families and Children, an adoption agency located in Manhattan. Barb had died, and I found the courage to take a leap of faith.