“The world is a small place.” So the saying goes. And, Nashville? Forget that “six degrees of separation” theory. Our exploding, yet still tenaciously maintained friendliness here puts us at more like four, three or less degrees of separation. Then there’s the subgroups to which we all belong—art, writing, spiritual-conscious living, whole foods, mind-body fitness, college affiliation, an alumni of a plethora of evening classes on various topics, former neighborhoods….(Those are some of my subgroups.) And, then there’s an additional—disAbility. The disAbility community nationally, and even internationally, is an even smaller place. Especially here in the microcosm of Nashville.

So all those spheres of disAbility within our greater local disAbility community, professional affiliations, and a church community known for its social justice action—those people, those groups. They packed Second Presbyterian Church in Nashville Saturday morning. Their numbers filled the balcony and extended, with folding chairs, the long pews on both upper and lower floors. Hillsboro High School teachers and students (Go Burros!), once-upon-a-time baby stroller buddies, Green Hills YMCA Full Circle members, Capernaum and Ascent, Nashville Dolphins, and church members. All of us. We showed up in jeans, tees, and other casual dress in honor of a young man who “didn’t like to dress up.” We feasted on potluck, because “that was Nate’s favorite.” We hugged and swabbed salty tears with soggy, crumpled tissues. We were mourning. And. We were celebrating.

Saturday morning, we celebrated the life that had shone brightly. One that ignited an innocent joy in the hearts of those who knew him. We all had a story to tell about Nate Nolan, a 21-year-old young man, an only child, who had autism. Mine is crystallized in time-suspended stills. Vignettes snapped by the memory capturing camera of my mind. I can see and hear the concern he voiced in an otherwise shushed classroom the last time I saw him at Full Circle less than a week before he died of a suspected seizure while napping. We’d gotten to the Y late that day, passing Nate’s dad, Mike, in the parking lot as he took off for a run. It was an afternoon fraught with issues, requiring Grace leave class not that long after she arrived. Nate expressed concern when I had to remove Grace because she tore an article of clothing she wore. (I stayed in the class that afternoon as a behavior preventative—which, obviously backfired. She ripped her garment to protest my presence. The other behavior interventions I’d put in place earlier had also failed. I’m not sure I answered Nate’s question as I escorted Grace from the room. I may have even ignored him. I remember thinking: “How do I handle this?,” as I was also attempting not to call any more attention to our situation.

I was seething with spiked blood pressure and clenched teeth because this was the umpteenth time that Grace had exhibited this behavior in this class and my planned hour of work while she was in class was forfeited. I grabbed my computer and our bags and walked her out the building. (No smoothie today, Kiddo. No rewards for you.) I saw Mike returning from his run, looking at us quizzically as we left the Y. The anger, I’m sure, was visible and deeply etched into my face. That was also the last time I saw Mike until yesterday’s memorial service.

And, that was the last time we saw sweet Nate. He always asked me with a sense of urgency, his voice escalating in volume and rising up the scale of pitch and tone as he punctuated his anxious inquiry: “Miss Leisa! WHERE’SGRACE!?!” Or, “Miss Leisa! HOW’SGRACE!?!” He’d eagerly await the answer.

Late Wednesday, we heard that that Nate was no longer with us—he died less than a week after he’d anxiously inquired about Grace’s removal from class. At 10:30 the night we learned of his death, I texted my friend John. I just needed to know that I wasn’t alone in feeling: What if? This could have been….This was too close to home….The day I heard the news, these thoughts ran on a loop: Seizure…Grace had a seizure last summer…Naps…She takes naps. (When she asked to take a nap that day, I thought about of her never waking up.) Only child…Hug her…Hold her tight…Treasure her…You were so mad at her the last time you saw Nate…Now Nate is gone.”

And then. Next thought: *The unimaginable, unbearable grief of his parents to have lost their son.* John, too, said all these were his thoughts. And they were shared by other parents in our disAbility community. I overheard many quietly repeat these sentiments yesterday at the memorial.

Nancy and Mike posted on Facebook Wednesday morning that instead of condolences, they wanted folks to share their favorite Nate stories. At yesterday’s memorial service that’s what we did. That’s what we did as we stood in snaking lines, waiting to hug and express our love to each parent…As we’d sat, packed into overflowing pews…As we dished out servings from casseroles, salads and banana pudding at the potluck…While a motley of male and female ministers, youth directors, and childhood friends sang, read poems, blog posts and sometimes choked out words about how much this young man had shown his love to all of us and how much we loved and treasured him.

Former “Second Pres” Youth Pastor Ben Saunders shared the following. (I promise I wasn’t texting during the service. I was pecking into my iPhone the following loosely paraphrased snippets of the minister’s memorial.)

The Gospel According to Nate

Nate lived a gospel story that was a true embodiment of the Divine.

The gospel of Nate had several chapters: 

1. Share with those around you.
[The minister told a touching and humours tale of Nate serving communion.] He wanted to share the bread of heaven with everyone. Quoting a line from poet Mary Oliver, the minister said that sharing was never meant to be just a crumb.

2. Be inquisitive.
Nate asked questions that, no doubt, others were thinking, but no one else was bold enough to ask.

3. Build bridges and be a friend.
That’s what Nate was doing when he’d ask about [Grace and] others. And then he’d relay what he learned—building a bridge from one friend to another.

4. Love animals. Care for nature.
Nate saw each animal as a sacred creature. As sacred of a life as his own. He showed reverence for all creation and he taught that there was a lot to learn from every manner of creation.

5. Challenge norms and be authentic.
Nate broke down norms and shared his voice. Nate taught others to be liberated by sharing our truest and most honest lives.

May we all live as Nate taught us to live.

The gospel is something still in process and still being written.

I am grateful to—as John wrote —the “whip-smart” parents of Nate. Mike and Nancy poured their energy into creating a rich, diverse, *inclusive* life for Nate. They built true community for their special son. Inclusive community. Together, with their savvy and Nate’s authentic bridge-building nature, there were no boundaries between cool kids and those who might be classified otherwise. Or, the stranger standing in the Kroger grocery line—as shared Mike with a grin as he spoke to the throng of us gathered yesterday morning.

And—as has been my experience when loved ones leave this earthly plane—I suspect the boundary between Nate and us now will be pretty thin. At the very least, Nate lives on in a community’s—many communities’—memories and most preciously in our hearts. RIP, dear one. And, yes, I was the one who yelled “WE LOVE YOU!” from the balcony yesterday (that was met with applause in agreement that we love you—when Mike and Nancy confessed they were astounded at our number of us who came to Nate’s service. Mike said he’d anticipated maybe 25 friends. Heh. No way. These two are masters of creating community, and community came to celebrate their special son, Nate Nolan. And, we’ll continue. Thank you for the gift of your too-short life, Nate. Thank you, Nancy and Mike. We love you.

The illustration: Those in our lives frequently receive a gift of art for a celebration or a sorrow. And I did give Nancy and Mike packs of Grace’s three current notecard series. But, I wanted to do more. I have several artist friends: Emily McGrew, (Grace’s personal assistant and art mentor,) Sally Mayne, (former arts administrator,) and Carrie Mills, (multi-genre artist and curator of the J Galleries at the Gordon Jewish Community Center Nashville,) who create animal portraits. But it was Dina Rae Capitani’s quirky caricature aesthetic she creates in her “Doggie Doodles” that best matched Nate. Creating a human portrait was a new feat for Dina, but I think she pulled it off beautifully based on a couple of pictures, including one taken of Nate at the Nashville Humane Association, where he volunteered regularly. My friends John and his wife, Janet Shouse, pooled funds with me to commission Dina as a gift to Nancy and Mike.