As many of you know, I started A Wish for Ashley back in July.  It was a last resort, I suppose you could say; a product of a number of things.  Among the driving factors was 10 years of fruitless searching, my uncle’s last wish, a complete frustration with the fact that there are thousands of Ashleys out there… and my shameless realization that this story might mean something to people…and if I approached it as a marketing campaign, I could sell, well, the importance of family.  Ok, not to say you’re my exploited consumer.  No, no, you’re a loving, compassionate individual.  I just,well, um, wanted to bring out that compassion in you.  Does that make me a monster? To the best of my abilities, I planned out what the project would look like and strategized solutions to the possible obstacles we might face along the way.  I told myself, self, it’s all well and good to be book smart, but in matters like this, it’s better to have common sense.  My self listened, most of the time, and I started to follow my instincts.  One of my very first instincts was the name for this project. ‘A Wish for Ashley’ came to mind right away, and- for perhaps the first time in my life- I didn’t double guess myself.  

Perhaps I should have. I would be laughing right now if I weren’t trying to hard not to cry.  As I mentioned, last week we learned some new information to help shape the search for my cousin.  I felt like dancing when I learned that, with near certainty, Ashley is in Connecticut.  Narrowing our search to one state- and a small state at that- brought me so much hope.  I envisioned blasting every newspaper and news channel in The Constitution State, coordinating a city hopping flyer tour… New Haven… Bridgeport… Stamford… Hartford… and calling every Ashley in the area and having one finally respond and say, Audra… it’s me.  Connecticut!  It was a magical word.  The magic disappeared when the same source made a rather cryptic statement.  Maybe I’m interpreting it wrong, overanalyzing in my INFP way, but having run the statement by some others, I think it’s important to share our joint interpretation with you: Ashley may not even have the first name of Ashley anymore.  Really? No, seriously, really?

Maybe we’re wrong.  But if we are right, I have to admit.  I didn’t see this coming. I mean she would have been age 7+ when someone decided to rename her.   Who would have thought? On the one hand it would make sense why I haven’t been able to find her all these years.  On the other hand, it forces me to rethink every strategy that I’ve implemented for the project thus far.  I feel like the closer I get, the farther I get.  Connecticut.  2/20/88.  How do you combine a state and a birthday… and produce a person? 

December is a month characterized by promise, magic, miracles.  I need all of those things now.  Help me.  I’m desperate.  If you’re in Connecticut this holiday season, play Find a Mixed Person.  If you see one, approach her.  Tell her a crazy girl in Boston made you do it, but just ask.   I need you guys to trust your instincts, because mine alone aren’t getting the job done.  I know what I want for Christmas.  As Mariah Carey belts out in my favorite Christmas song of all time… Ashley, all I want for Christmas is you.  

Let’s call it, A Holiday Wish for Jane Doe.  Please help me make it come true.  

With love (and minimal holiday spirit.  Really?  No seriously, really? I still don’t want to think it’s true),

Audra
 


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