Maddye
Soon after our daughter Madison was born, people began stopping LeAnn and me to tell us how unbelievably adorable she was. I say this not as a matter of pride, but as a matter of fact. It happened all the time.
“Oh my,” they’d say. “That’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.” Or words to that effect. These weren’t friends, mind you, but complete strangers we’d pass at the mall or grocery store.
It was something about her big eyes, tiny voice, interesting hair, and one-of-a-kind personality that did it, especially a bit later, when she was one or two. Madison would look at you with those eyes and then say something uniquely Madison-like in that little voice of hers, and it was all over. She’d hung the moon, it seemed.
Later, when she was a bit older, but no less cute, I was asked to come up with an Indian name that suited her. Dances with Wolves was a big movie of that era, so it had become trendy for a time (but perhaps politically incorrect) to decide what name was the right fit for those in your family.
“Full of life,” I said. For with Madison, no specific characteristic stood out. It was the overall package that made her who she was, something about her positive spirit and gung-ho approach to life. Madison was the opposite of melancholic. She was joyous, happy-go-lucky, fun.
During elementary school we noticed something else about her, something that played right into that full of life personality. Madison couldn’t stand it when stories had unhappy endings. She didn’t like it when people suffered. It just didn’t seem right.
I read to her a lot back then, and, as a film critic, she saw more than her fair share of movies. So I saw this reaction time after time. If a book or movie did not end “as it should,” it was a failure in her eyes. For life was good, not bad.
When cancer descended upon our family, Madison was only ten. I’m not exactly sure how hard it hit her, but it must have had some impact, to suddenly discover that her dad and her family were not infallible. Her world-view must have adjusted, however slightly.
But you wouldn’t know this by watching her. While others in the family might get down from time to time, Madison would have none of it. “You’re going to be fine,” she’d say while smiling, humming a happy tune.
Madison is one of those people who doesn’t dwell on the what-ifs when things are going wrong. Instead, she expects things to work out. I’m not sure if she adheres to a “power of positive thinking” belief-system, but in a practical way that’s who she is.
But then, year after year, it was bad news, worse news, awful news. Life has a funny way of surprising you like that. So you think that’s how it is, do you? someone seems to be asking behind the scenes. Well then, let’s see what you think about this! BAM!
During the last year, after they told me I had stage four cancer with little hope of survival, I’ve noticed a few more adjustments in Madison, now Maddye. She gives me long hugs, the kind that can change your mood from bad to good. She comes to me, not infrequently, and curls up on my lap, just as she did when she was that adorable big-eyed baby, and she simply holds on. She apologizes quicker than she might with a dad living under the seventy-year plan. And she tells me she loves me before going to bed each night.
One day, when I was feeling particularly awful, sick as a dog from chemo, Maddye surprised me by taking my hand and saying, “Dad. You don’t have to do this. If the medicine’s making you feel too sick, you can stop taking it. It’s okay.” Like those lousy movies from her childhood, she couldn’t stand to see me suffer.
“No, I’m fine,” I told her. “I want to be here with you for as long as I possibly can. So if that means being sick for a few days every other week, then that’s okay.” She thought about my answer for a few seconds and seemed satisfied.
It’s strange how a spontaneous conversation like that can become so big. Because a few days later, she tells me this story, right out of the blue.
“Hey Dad. I was in class today, and our teacher asked us this question,” she said. “Get this. She asked what we would do if someone in our family was extremely sick and going to die and wanted us to give him a pill that would make him die, so he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.”
“Oh my gosh,” I said, or perhaps something a little stronger.
“I know,” Maddye said. “Awkward. So a bunch of the kids in my class are saying that they wouldn’t do it, that’s it’s wrong, that it’s not up to us to decide when someone should die, stuff like that.”
“So what’d you say?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to know.
“Well, I stayed quiet. But everyone kept giving the same answer. So I finally raised my hand and told them that I’d do it. I told them you’re very sick, dying from cancer, and how I’d told you that if the medicine and chemotherapy was making you too sick that you should stop doing it. And then I told them how you’d said it was worth it to keep taking the medicine and be sick sometimes if it helped you live longer.”
Meanwhile, as Maddye spoke, my heart was beating like a heavy metal band’s drums.
She continued: “So I said that if you asked me to give you a pill, then you must really be suffering, because you wouldn’t stop taking the medicine before when it was making you sick. So I told them if you asked me that I’d know that it was really bad and I’d give it to you.”
“Gosh Maddye, what did everyone say?” I asked, trying to maintain control.
“After I said that, everyone was completely quiet. No one said a word. But after class a bunch of them came up and told me they were sorry about my dad.”
There she was, happy-go-lucky Maddye, so beautiful, so full of life, having to think about making one of the hardest calls of all. She was so grown up now, a high school senior, heading off to college next year, and I was so proud of her.
A few days later, our family was thinking about going to see one of the holiday films. When LeAnn mentioned Marley and Me, I hesitated. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maddye might not like it. I heard a rumor that the ending is ’sad’.”
Funny. I was still trying to protect her from the imperfect world out there, that place that can be so big, so scary, so sad. Meanwhile, Maddye had moved beyond that dream into the real world, where someone, every day, has to decide whether or not to pull the plug.
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Comments
No words to say–Just tears. The true sincere love you receive from others is what true living has been for me.
Oh, WOW. Maddye sounds like such an amazing woman, for from what you’ve written, she is a child no longer. Children are such amazing creatures; resilient, thoughtful, and loving without hesitation. It isn’t often, especially in today’s society, to see that trio of traits survive into adulthood. While I lament your struggles, their profound affect on those touched by you will remain for a lifetime, encouraging, guiding, and, yes, even comforting. My husband’s cousin was recently given a diagnosis similar to the one you’ve been given. Reading your story is helping me to accept the things I cannot change and to realize that good things still can come from the bad (sad?). Your way of dealing with your struggle is beyond empowering; it is the spark of ignition for those of us who have been too long in the “just getting by” phase. Thank you for the reminder to cherish those around us. You have touched my life, my heart. I will continue to follow your story, and I wish (and pray) for you the best that can come your way. (My apologies for the length of this post, all.)
Jim,
What a loving, and unselfish daughter you have in Maddye, I hope you realize how blessed you are to have had her in your live.
You and your wife have done a wonderful job of raising her up to be a fine woman.
Sincerely,
Teddie
What a wonderful role model for other daughters!!! Your stories have really made me seek the blessings (and humor)in life. I am always amazed at how much living you and your brood do despite your situation. You guys are quite inspiring!
Jim,
I am amazed at the grace with which you and your family navigate this time in your life, and while I am dumbstruck by this, I am also keenly aware of each of your “alone” times when things perhaps aren’t so smooth. It is for strength in those times that I will pray for you and yours. As you know, you are very lucky to be guaranteed such a lasting legacy in your beautiful family. Thank you for inspiring with your words and acts.
mike