Farewell to an ambassador of friendship

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Farewell to an ambassador of friendship

By BARBARA SHELLY

The procession of youths began hesitantly. But young people

soon filled the center aisle of the Church of the Nativity in Leawood on a

snowy Saturday morning.

Some of them showed the characteristics of Down syndrome and other physical

and mental conditions. Others were blessed with peak health and vigor.

One by one, they placed red roses on the casket of the Blue Valley North

High School classmate who had sought the best in all of them, and found it.

Cote, as the priest noted in his funeral homily, didn’t have a

healthy heart. It was created without a major artery and patched up in three

intricate surgical procedures.

But had a good heart, and a fearless one. He could approach his

school’s most popular students as confidently as his peers in Room 405,

the special education classroom.

“What’s your ZIP code?” he would ask, genuinely and

intensely interested. ZIP codes were his passion, along with telephone numbers,

currency, flags, license plates, weather data and lists of any sort.

A ZIP code revealed, a list appended, a friendship formed. For , it was

that simple.

His medical history, though, was complex. was born with

velocardiofacial syndrome, a genetic disorder that causes heart defects and a

multitude of other symptoms. ’s complications included severe

epileptic seizures and learning difficulties.

“He never got ear infections or normal kid things,” said his

mother, Liz Cote. “It was always something huge.”

Two years ago, suffered a seizure so severe he turned blue. But

nothing had prepared his family to find him unresponsive the morning of Dec.

12, as the household was waking up for what was supposed to be a routine school

day for and his younger siblings, and Paige. ’s skin was

gray, and he had flecks of blood around his mouth. Paramedics pronounced him

dead at home. He was 17.

’s family called him “our ambassador.”

“Everyone was a friend or a potential friend,” said his father,

Jeff Cote.

The breadth of his friendships became clear as hundreds of mourners filled

the Catholic church at 119th Street and Mission Road for ’s burial

Mass.

Kenyon, a classmate, had ordered 100 red roses for classmates to place

on the coffin. But the line of kids stretched on long after the supply was

extinguished.

’s best friend, Jack , stood at the casket’s side.

This was fitting, because and Jack, who has Down syndrome, had been

inseparable since fourth grade. They never let a day go by without talking, and

their outings were marked with jokes, uproarious laughter and high-fives.

Every youth who approached the coffin embraced Jack, some quickly and others

holding on as though somewhere in his hug was the strength to move forward.

“The students at Blue Valley North High School proved to me we have

nothing to worry about with today’s youth,” Jack’s father,

, wrote in an e-mail to friends and colleagues.

“Within hours of hearing of ’s death, they banded together

to assure that Jack would not have to cope with this loss without them.”

’s parents were endlessly gratified by the kindness that students

at Blue Valley North showed their son. When asked a girl with Down

syndrome to his school’s homecoming dance this fall, Kenyon and other

students folded the couple into their group, arranging transportation and

dinner plans. ’s family has photos of him in formal dress, beaming,

standing with his date in the center of a group of radiant students.

None of them could have known that, weeks later, he would be gone.

Teenagers at the funeral nodded as the priest, the Rev. Ron Livojevich, told

them that “the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”

“Perhaps is calling from eternity: Take care of each other. Love

each other. Look after each other. Tell each other the truth,” Livojevich

said.

For , it was that simple.

Barbara is a member of the Editorial Board. To reach her, call

816-234-4594 or send e-mail to bshelly@....

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