Dear Maureen:

It's been 15 years since we saw your smile, that great, big, beautiful smile that buried the rest of your face. It was your trademark, a peek into your soul. When your eyes started crinkling around the edges, I knew what was coming, and I, too, would start to grin. With no words spoken, it didn't matter that we didn't have a reason to laugh. Just being with you made me smile like a fool.

You had that way about you that people noticed, a special joie de vivre. In fact, you loved being alive so much that I was slow to recognize the signs of cerebral palsy. You were physically challenged in a world which demanded perfection, but that was secondary to you. Your reflections on daily life made me sit up straight and pay attention. I wanted to be like you.

Trying to keep up with your friends was a bit difficult because of your hampered gait, but you sure did handle that cane with lightning speed! You were never late to class. In fact, you did so well that you graduated with honors and were accepted to Yale. Speaking three languages, your goal was to become a U.N. interpreter. I can still see you sitting on your Mom's sofa, holding your teddy bear with the blue sweater which sported a huge "Y". The world was your oyster.

By the way, did I ever tell you that you were the best babysitter I ever had? I wouldn't leave my children with just anyone, and it didn't matter that you couldn't carry the newborn. You'd rock him to sleep and hand him to his big brother to put into the crib, then you'd pull yourself up the stairs and stay with the boys until you were sure the Sandman had come for the night.

Evenings with you were major events. You coaxed the most beautiful music from our old piano, making me wonder why it didn't sound the same when I played. You invented games to play with the children, helped them with their homework, and told stories which kept them on the edge of their seats. The TV was never turned on when you were here. Thank you for that.

Only once do I remember you becoming weepy. "I'll never be able to dance or ride a bike. Sometimes it bothers me that my legs won't work the way I want them to, but, I guess it could be worse, so I have nothing to complain about." You, the teenager, were my teacher. I do hope I learned my lesson well.

You had a passion for speaking out against abortion. I remember the time you set up a "Save the Babies" booth at a Yale rally. Right next to a "Save the Whales" table. You warded off the silent looks of derision, and held your ground during the radio debate. Great job, you brave girl.

You worried so much about the babies, writing Right to Life messages on slips of paper and slipping them under the salt and pepper shakers in the cafeteria. You wrote letters to politicians begging them to reconsider their stand on the issue. So grateful for your own life, you couldn't imagine anyone not wanting a baby, no matter how deformed or handicapped. All that mattered was life itself.

Your academic record was so stellar, you could have graduated in three years. You didn't consider that an option, though. You felt that you had too much work to do for the unborn. You wore yourself out rising every morning in the pre-dawn hours to pray that maybe that day a mother would opt to keep her baby.

Part of my heart was torn out when I got the news that you had died. You had been taking semester exams, and had come home with a cold. That's all -- it was just a cold.

The church was overflowing at your funeral. Standing room only. The comments were traded among young, old, black, white, handicapped. You had important work to do here. How could a twenty year old die? With your talents, why did it have to be you? Look at all the evil people who destroy everything in their paths. Why were they still here?

But, God needed a beautiful girl with a big, flashy smile who could rock the babies and sing to them until their own mamas would be with them. There was only one person who could do the job of Heaven's Babysitter.

Love,
Mrs. B.


Maureen's work did not end with her death. A home was opened for unmarried mothers who want to keep their babies. Carolyn's Place in Waterbury, CT, was dedicated to the memory of Maureen Donohoe in 1992.


Irene Budzynski, Copyright 2001 Irene_Budd@yahoo.com

Write Irene and let her know your thoughts on her story!
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Irene Budzynski, a registered nurse in New England, is a contributor to online publications. One of her early stories, "Night Shift", was featured on the inspirational radio program, Nightsoundsradio. "More than a Paycheck" is included in one of the Heartwarmers books, and she assisted in the publication of a book of essays by her 85 year old mentor, a copy of which can be purchased by contacting Irene by email.