This gorgeous, joyful baby captivated thousands, if not millions of us who knew or read her parents' blogs, before she was taken away from this realm too soon.
Madeline Alice Spohr was born prematurely, after her mother Heather endured a brutal pregnancy and far too many ominous pronouncements from Doctors about how her baby would never make it. But Maddie defied those pronouncements, the pessimism with which they were delivered and every unfavorable odd which loomed against her tiny, but formidable will.
Until last week.
Last week, a cough and congestion took Maddie to the Doctor, and then an ambulance was suddenly rushing her to the hospital.
And then, she was gone.
Most of you readers know that I am constantly haunted by my own personal loss, that nothing has ever been the same since that ugly night a decade ago when I was the one rushing to the hospital to be near someone who would be stolen away, too soon.
Most of you do not know that I lost one nephew last year after he was born prematurely, much like Maddie; another nephew survived, defying baleful predictions and delighting all of us with his adamantine will to survive...much like Maddie. Because of those babies, the March of Dimes is a crucially important cause to our family. Much like Maddie's.
I think that's why Madeline's story resonated with me, so intensely. In Maddie's devoted mother Heather, I saw one of my favorite, closest cousins ever. In Maddie's hilarious father Mike, I recognized the goodness of my cousin's husband-- the best in-law I have. And in little Maddie, defiant, brilliant, larger-than-life-though-a-preemie Maddie...I was reminded of a certain baby, who broke my heart when he struggled through his first few weeks of life, but mended it a million times over when I met him for the first time, and he smiled; I never took that smile or even the mere possibility of it for granted. Until that blessed morning, I had never held a baby while being so grateful for the simple opportunity to do so. I'd never felt so close to or aware of G-d's grace, as I did when my miraculous nephew wrapped his impressively strong little fingers around one of my own. That was when I realized that what I was holding wasn't just a cute, well-dressed infant but the awe-inspiring answer to all of our desperate, tearful prayers. From Heather and Mike's moving, eloquent writing, I almost know that they beheld their gorgeous Madeline the same way.
This is why the blogosphere is so powerful, why strangers aren't so strange after all, and why it's entirely possible, if not predictable to care about people whom you might never meet. At our core, we are more similar to each other than not. We recognize common adversities and joys, and we comment, commit to causes or donate bits of ourselves to "strangers" because we identify with their lives. We could all be Heather or Mike. We could have all lost as much. Their tragedy clarifies our realities, cutting through petty disagreements or the perfunctory, mindless way in which we stumble through our days. The seemingly-trite lesson to love now, because you might not be able to tomorrow impacts us powerfully and repeatedly because we refuse to learn it until we are forced to, or more likely, as in situations like this, until we watch in horror as people about whom we care are brutally used as reminders of it. After reading the news about Maddie and crying through several tissues, I held someone closer and thanked G-d I was able to do so, one, ten, hopefully a thousand more times. It's not like Heather thought, "This is the end" when she took her only child to the Doctor, last week...
::
The first time I saw Madeline, I was overwhelmed by her giant, azure-colored eyes. Then I dissolved in to her wide, ever-delighted smile. After coming to, I realized I had another reason for swooning over her; she shared the name of the little girl who starred in the storybooks I loved most as a child. Though I don't think I ever mentioned it to anyone, not even my closest friends, I often thought of naming my own child Madeline, if I had one some day. That's how much the fictional Madeline meant to me. And that is why the very non-fictional Madeline Alice sort of owned me from the very start.
Since I cannot be there for the service, like so many others, I will be wearing purple today for Maddie. This blog is now purple for Maddie. My Twitter is purple for Maddie. My heart is purple, the color of bruises, for Maddie's grieving family, for what they are suffering through. No parent should have to bury their child. The world is less for the loss of her. Maddie's dazzling smile was so radiant, it might have contributed to global warming.
Mike and Heather, every baby is special, but yours was extraordinary, in every way. That is why the entire country is aching with you, organizing March of Dimes teams to walk in honor of your baby girl, watching and reading the news about her and ransacking closets to wear purple for her. Maddie was so beautiful, perhaps too beautiful for this world. Maybe that's why the angels gave in to an anomalous moment of selfishness, and took back one of their own. Perhaps one day, you'll find in your enormous hearts the ability to forgive them, for spiriting her away just 17 months after she arrived on this blue and green circle among the stars, none of which could out-shine Madeline's divine inner light.
May you feel peace, today and always, and as we say in the Greek Orthodox faith, long may Maddie's memory be eternal.
Recent Comments