My mother used to say, “There by the grace of God go I.” She wanted me to recognize that others’ misfortune could be my own, if not for the blessing of God.

In 1970, my cousin Bobby Meyer and I attended the Norwich Free Academy. The month of June had been going smoothly until the day my cousin begged me to do him a favor.

“You have to take Austin to school with you for the day. He needs to meet his goals at his school to graduate, and it involves visiting a different school. I can’t take him to my shop classes—it’s too dangerous. Please, Connie Mary…I promised his mom.”

My first reaction was panic. Austin was a friend to both of us. Even though he was our age, Austin was different. He attended a special school because he followed certain routines. When those routines were interrupted, it was complete chaos.

Finally, I relented, even though I knew I would be responsible for a boy who loved to climb to the top of my grandfather’s roof, just to get a glimpse of Heaven.

I was doomed.

Within a few days, I drove us to school. I studied Austin as he sat in the passenger seat wearing the infamous blue jacket that he refused to remove without a battle.

My first class was art, which at first, Austin seemed to enjoy. We almost made it to the end of class when the fire alarm went off.

After looking for an hour, we finally found Austin hiding underneath a large Persian rug.

At that point it was almost time for lunch and I directed Austin to the cafeteria. I gave him a tray and we both walked through the food line. Austin would point to his food and the lunch lady would put it on his plate.

When we sat down, Austin looked at his plate with remorse.

Then I realized my error.

I had forgotten to tell the lunch lady not to let the foods touch each other.

The cafeteria was filled to capacity when Austin quietly pushed his plate over the side of the table…and screamed.

Afterward, we sat outside on the benches until my next class below the Slater Building. English teacher Alan K. Driscoll was prepared for Austin, but I am not sure I was.

Mr. Driscoll introduced Austin to the class, and we took a seat in the back. Unfortunately, there were desks on each side of Austin touching his desk.

When I told Mr. Driscoll the problem, he made an announcement to the class.

“All right, folks, our guest needs some modifications. On the count of three, everyone is to push their desk away from Austin—and everyone else for that matter.”

I had survived the day.

After school I drove Austin to my grandparents’ house on Talman Street to visit.

As I was taking my books out of the back seat, Austin jumped out of the car and ran ahead of me.

Within minutes he was on top of the roof with his feet spread wide, his arms outstretched, and his face shining gold as if blessed by the sun’s rays.

Nonna and I watched Nonno climb the ladder and take him down.

As we were walking away, Nonna said, “Most of us can only dream of what Heaven will be like in the next life, but the special people can see it now.”

Concetta Falcone-Codding is a 1971 graduate of the Norwich Free Academy and the author of The Lonely Nest. You can contact at concettafalconecodding1@gmail.com.