The first time I saw her, Loretta barely looked at me. It was January 1989 and I had come to her junior high school to serve as its new speech pathologist. None of my students said too much to me that first day but Loretta was quieter than the rest. Dressed in a baggy black T-shirt and jeans, she sat in the back of the classroom, her hair hiding her face. But not even her wild blond locks could completely hide the sadness and need in her eyes.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d been teaching for nine years and loved my work. Still, it troubled me to see students like Loretta who seemed so lost. I could barely get a full sentence out of her when I called on her in class. As the semester went on, some of my students started to confide in me, but Loretta always shuffled out without so much as a backward glance. When she was absent for several days in a row, I learned from a school administrator that she had been suspended on a drug violation.<\/p>\n
The last day of school came and I said goodbye to Loretta for what I thought might be the last time, praying silently that she would find her way.<\/p>\n
The next afternoon I got a call. \u201cHi, Miss Fry, this is Loretta.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLoretta? What a nice surprise! What can I do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause. \u201cOh, nothing. I looked you up in the book. I just thought I\u2019d call and say hello.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m glad you did. What\u2019re you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust sitting in my room, listening to the radio. No one\u2019s around.\u201d<\/p>\n
We made small talk for another 10 minutes, with me filling awkward silences, until Loretta said good-bye. I stared at the phone a moment after putting the receiver down. What was that all about?<\/em> I wondered.<\/p>\n The next day she called at exactly the same time. And again the next. She never had much to say, yet she kept calling. I began asking her questions about her family life and learned she lived with her stepfather. Complaining about him was one of her favorite pastimes.<\/p>\n One afternoon when Loretta called I sensed immediately something was amiss. A minute or two into the conversation I realized she\u2019d been drinking. She started talking about school. Then out of nowhere she told me that her father passed away when she was only a year old. \u201cWhat about your mom?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cShe died two years ago \u2026 when I was twelve,\u201d Loretta said.<\/p>\n I caught my breath. \u201cI lost my mom when I was your age,\u201d I said softly. I was an only child, and my mom and I had been extremely close. We\u2019d spent countless hours talking, shopping, and cooking meals together. When Mom died suddenly of complications from surgery it was a devastating shock. I went through high school on autopilot, burying my head in textbooks. It wasn\u2019t till senior year that I finally began to form friendships<\/a>. Even at the age of 30, I still had a quiet ache in my heart from losing my mother, a fear of getting that close to anyone again.<\/p>\n \u201cI know how it feels,\u201d I said to Loretta, \u201cbut I also know that drugs and alcohol won\u2019t make the pain go away.\u201d<\/p>\n Again, Loretta changed the subject and soon ended the call. But a few days later, she called again and told me more about her mother. She was opening up to me, slowly but surely. We continued to talk all summer. I wondered if I\u2019d hear from her once the new school year started since she wouldn\u2019t be in my class anymore. The first day of school, though, she showed up after class to chat. She stopped by each day, revealing more about her difficult relationship with her stepfather, the bad neighborhood she lived in, and her involvement with the drug crowd. Some days I suspected she was high. \u201cDrugs aren\u2019t the answer, Loretta, no matter how bad you feel,\u201d I\u2019d remind her. \u201cThey only make things worse.\u201d<\/p>\n Loretta called me late one evening that fall. \u201cCan you come over, Miss Fry?\u201d she asked weakly. She had a terrible cold and her stepfather wasn\u2019t around. I hurried over. \u201cThanks for coming, Miss Fry,\u201d she greeted me between coughs. She gave me a tour of her small three-room home, then pulled a photo album out of her dresser drawer and showed me old pictures of her mother and father. I couldn\u2019t help but wonder if this was the real purpose of having me visit.<\/p>\n Lord, Loretta needs someone to really take care of her<\/em>, I thought as I drove back home. Then, almost instantly, the thought came back, It should be you, as clear as a spoken phrase. I dismissed it. The idea of all that responsibility was overwhelming. I was young and single, busy with my career, and active in my church. How would I find room in my life for a teenage girl? But there was something else behind my resistance, a darker fear. Did I want to risk getting that attached?<\/p>\n Yet I couldn\u2019t resist Loretta, especially when she seemed so eager for my company. I took her out for a bite to eat after school sometimes, and to school football games. One weekend I invited her to join me and my friends on a camping trip<\/a> to Lake Kissimmee State Park. As I was finishing up breakfast Saturday morning, I glanced up and saw Loretta perched high in an oak tree. She giggled and waved. It was the first time I\u2019d ever heard her laugh like that.<\/p>\n The more time we spent together, the more I felt a responsibility to this girl who seemed to have picked me out to help her. No longer would I just take off for the weekend without a second thought. Now I\u2019d tell Loretta where I was going and when I\u2019d be back. She\u2019s getting to you, Carolee<\/em>, I thought.<\/p>\n One cold Friday night in March, Loretta called me from the hospital emergency room, where she\u2019d just been treated for severe bronchitis. \u201cCan I come stay with you, Miss Fry?\u201d she asked, her voice hoarse and shaky. \u201cMy stepdad won\u2019t take care of me like you will.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course you can, Loretta,\u201d I said. When she got to my little house and we unfolded the sleeper sofa, Loretta crawled under the covers fully clothed. \u201cThank you,\u201d she whispered right before her eyes closed. I watched her sleep for a while, her slow breaths ruffling the hair that hung down over her face. Finally I went to bed.<\/p>\n In the middle of the night, I was awakened by Loretta\u2019s coughing. I turned on the living room lamp and went to the sofa. I put my arms around Loretta\u2019s rail-thin frame and she clung to me. \u201cIt\u2019s okay, I\u2019m going to look after you,\u201d I promised. \u201cYou\u2019ll be better in no time.\u201d Stroking her hair until she was calm, I realized that though Loretta was 15 years old, she was still a lost little girl who needed someone to hold onto. It should be you<\/em>, my heart said again, and this time the thought lingered.<\/p>\n That weekend I looked after Loretta round-the-clock, making her soup, seeing that she took her medicine. By the time she went back to her stepdad\u2019s Monday morning, I was looking forward to some time alone. But when I came home from school that evening, the house seemed terribly empty.<\/p>\n Loretta soon recovered from her illness. Then one day after school she stumbled into my classroom, her knees about to buckle under her. \u201cI took some new pills,\u201d she croaked. She could barely keep her head up. Panic jabbed through me. What do I do? I rushed to the school office and got the vice principal.<\/p>\n When the drugs wore off, Loretta was fine but I was terrified. First, because I knew she was getting deeper into drugs. But mostly because I\u2019d had to report to the vice principal what was responsible for her condition, and he assigned her to a disciplinary school for 60 days. Lord, I\u2019m the only lifeline this kid has. What if she doesn\u2019t trust me anymore?<\/em> I couldn\u2019t bear to think about her hurt and alone, sinking deeper into substance abuse, losing her way again after reaching out for my guidance. I called her that evening. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry, Loretta,\u201d I blurted out. \u201cI never meant for things to turn out this way.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay, Miss Fry, I know you were just trying to help me,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n Loretta had fallen so far behind in class that she had to go to summer school, except she had no transportation to get there. This time I knew what I had to do. I asked her stepdad if she could stay with me so I could drive her to school. Reluctantly he agreed. It was a huge step, having Loretta live with me full-time, if only for the summer. I wanted everything to be just right, which meant finding a place with enough room for her. I went house hunting and took Loretta to see my favorite one. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d I asked. She gazed around slowly, then looked at me, her eyes shining. \u201cIt feels like home,\u201d she said. That was good enough for me. I signed the papers on the house the next week.<\/p>\n The first week of June Loretta moved in. She had all of her belongings in two large plastic bags\u2014clothes, rock-and-roll posters, a boom box, a softball bat, stuffed animals, even an old box of Legos. I sat her down and made it clear she could not use drugs or alcohol<\/a> while under my roof. \u201cYou can\u2019t stay here if you do,\u201d I said. \u201cThose are the rules.\u201d<\/p>\n It was a struggle for Loretta to break free from drugs and alcohol after using them to numb her pain for so long. She often woke me to tell me she\u2019d had a nightmare. \u201cThat\u2019s the past chasing you, honey,\u201d I told her. \u201cThe more you feel safe and loved, the less it\u2019ll haunt you.\u201d<\/p>\n Gradually she started sleeping and eating better. Her pasty cheeks turned rosy. And most afternoons she went Rollerblading instead of lying on the sofa listening to the radio.<\/p>\n After summer school ended, Loretta\u2019s stepdad allowed her to keep staying with me. Each day there seemed to be a new challenge. I still wasn\u2019t used to having another human being completely dependent upon me. I\u2019d pray over every little thing. Often some small problem would set Loretta off and she\u2019d run to her room and slam the door. We spent many a night\u2014me sitting on her bed or her sitting on mine\u2014having heart-to-heart talks. My mother and I had talked about everything, and I wanted Loretta and me to have the same kind of relationship.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s gotten into you?\u201d my friends would ask me, incredulous. \u201cYou\u2019re focusing your whole life on this girl.\u201d It was true, and the more time and energy I invested in Loretta\u2014the more emotion \u2014the less scared I felt of getting close to her. I had become convinced that she must have been guided into my life and that I was meant to take care of her.<\/p>\n One night after dinner, Loretta forgot to clean up yet again. \u201cHow many times do I have to tell you, Loretta? Put your dishes in the sink!\u201d She flew into one of her tantrums, the worst yet, and stormed off to her room. I followed, knowing something deeper was troubling her. Finally she admitted her stepfather used to throw things at her when she didn\u2019t do the dishes.<\/p>\n Loretta looked up at me. \u201cI never want to go back there again,\u201d she whispered. I knelt in front of her. \u201cDo you want me to ask for custody of you?\u201d Her eyes lit up. \u201cYes,\u201d she said hugging me tightly. \u201cYes, please, Miss Fry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAll right, Loretta, I will. But you\u2019re going to have to stop calling me Miss Fry,\u201d I said, laughing.<\/p>\n Her stepdad refused to give up custody, but I persisted, calling him every week. In the meantime, I tried to give Loretta all the attention my mom had given me. We went everywhere together\u2014hiking, shopping, the movies. I arranged for her to see a counselor<\/a>. Every night I helped her with her homework. It turned out she had dyslexia and had fallen into a pattern of giving up when an assignment seemed too difficult. \u201cBeing learning disabled doesn\u2019t mean you can\u2019t learn\u2014just that you have to work harder. Don\u2019t let circumstances rule you\u2014run your own life,\u201d I told her, remembering how my mom had encouraged me. Slowly Loretta\u2019s grades improved.<\/p>\n Finally, in April of 1991, after Loretta had lived with me for nearly a year, her stepdad consented and gave me custody of her. By July what had already happened in my heart became official: Loretta was my daughter.<\/p>\n Loretta graduated high school and went to junior college, the first in her family to do so. Today she is 25 years old, has a full-time job, and lives in her own home about a half hour away from me. I see her often, and each time I do I marvel at how God brought us together and at how good it feels to give of myself without holding back, to love completely and unconditionally again. \u201cIf it wasn\u2019t for you, Carolee, I wouldn\u2019t be here,\u201d Loretta sometimes tells me. I was right\u2014Loretta needed someone. What I hadn\u2019t realized was just how much I had needed someone too.<\/p>\n