My Spiritual Autobiography - Part VII

As Theresa grew, got stronger, and started sleeping through the night I remember a tremendous feeling of well-being coming over me. I liked who I was becoming as a father. I felt as though I was growing up and becoming a man. Even though the fear that I had felt early on with her was unpleasant, it had left it's mark on me and I had to admit I was much better for it. I remember going back to confession at the Church where I had experienced some of the earlier conversion graces. I had Theresa with me at the time since my wife was occupied somewhere else and as I went in to the confessional face to face I saw one of the priests who had ministered to me earlier in my conversion. He smiled at recognizing me and asked "Who is this?" nodding to Theresa. I made my confession as she crawled all over my lap sticking her fingers in my ears, nose, mouth and anything else she could reach. At the end the priest asked me "How are you?". Pride over my daughter welled up in my heart and I said "I'm the richest man in the world." He smiled.

July 2003 was a hot month. I was nearing the end of my first really big construction project at work, a job I had put together conceptually myself, with newborn Theresa sleeping on my knee, and was now following straight through to the end. Theresa had been experiencing a rash on her body for a few weeks and just seemed out of sorts. One night I had a vivid dream. I was standing before a dark mist that was swirling. It was cool (I remember feeling that in the dream). Suddenly Theresa's little baby hand came out of the mist and reached into my mouth (she would often do this in real life to comfort herself if I was up feeding her in the night). In my dream I said "Don't even say that" even though nothing had been said to me. About a week later, Theresa Rose had a very tough day. She spent the day in mom's arms whimpering. We thought she was have a really bad spell of teething. Around 3 PM I got a call from my wife "You need to come home. Something's not right here." I heard fear in her voice. I drove home in a panic praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy (more on that later). "For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world" I prayed as I drove as fast as I could down the city streets barely stopping at intersections.

When I arrived at the house and walked in the door, Theresa had just started having a seizure. She had a glassy look on her face, her right arm was rigid and she was grunting. My wife and I ran out of the house in a panic. We jumped back into the car and I drove as fast as I could to Children's Hospital. It took forever to get there. I wish I could forget the sound of Theresa grunting in the back seat. When we arrived at the hospital, there was, by some miracle, no one in the E.R. We went directly in. Nurses ran all over around us, and a doctor came and stood still near us at the bedside. She was simultaneously directing about ten people, talking to us and examing Theresa. She was in control, an oasis of rationality in the midst of confusion. I trusted she could handle the situation. I was riding an emotional rollercoaster so fast. I would get so worked up I would lose my train of thought and become momentarily confused and then it snap back into my mind "She's sick, she's dying!" and I would rachet back up again. At one point the doctor said, "We have to move her to another room with better equipment" and away we went. The pastor from our Church arrived just as we boarded the elevator. He blessed Theresa. I saw tears well up in the doctor's eyes as the elevator doors closed. I thought "What the hell is happening?"

They separated us from Theresa as she went into the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit and we went into a family waiting area. I had been on the phone intermittently through the process and our support structure was fully mobilized. It was incredible. People showed up in minutes at the hospital. A minister and counselor from the hospital sat with us asking all sorts of questions to keep our minds occupied. We sensed what they were doing. After hours (literally) a team of doctors came in to talk to us. "Theresa has leukemia" they said. "What!?!" my wife said out loud. I couldn't understand. Epilepsy I expected, leukemia, no. "She's had a major brain injury akin to a stroke. She is fighting for her life".

The experience of next going into the Peds ICU was one of walking on egg-shells. I saw her little body laying on a hospital bed with a tube down her throat and so many other tubes sticking into her body that I later suggested to my friend that if he was coming down, he shouldn't bring his daughter because it might freak her out to see it. The main doctor in the room with Theresa had been working feverishly (he was literally sweating) to stabilize her and he had suceeded. My wife then gave an exhibition of what I have later come to know as "the feminine genius". She went over to Theresa and in a positive-sounding motherly voice said "It's okay Theresa, Mommy and Daddy are here, you're going to be okay" and gently caressed and kissed her. I put my arm around my wife to support her. I had no words.

There followed three days of Theresa fighting for her life in the hospital. As fate (providence) would have it, Fr. Joseph was home for Rome when this all happened. He was looking forward to meeting her. He did this at the hospital. He had the presence of mind to suggest that she receive the sacrament of confirmation. As providence would also have it, the only other person in the room at the time (besides us) was Theresa's God-father who volunteered to be her confirmation sponsor - I later read that this is the preferred thing. Fr. Joseph asked what confirmation name we wanted. We weren't able to come up with anything. He mentioned that it was the feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. I said "How about Carmella?" sort of half-kidding. Carmella it was. Over the next three days people streamed continuously to the hospital. We were never without support. An internet website for Theresa was started. We received word of people praying for her literally on the other side of the planet.

In the end, it became clear that Theresa was dying. Her body began to systematically fail. It was an inevitable process and we couldn't stop it. We made a decision with the doctor to accept this reality. Around 1:00 AM they began the process of taking her off life support. The surgeon who had been working on her lungs kept her alive with a manual rescusitator as they disconnected the tubes. Numerous nurses offerred to relieve him. He refused. Finally, they brought her to us. I said, "Give her to her mother" and they did. When we had her back, I began to sob viscerally, saying "Oh no, oh no, oh no..." under my breath. I wrapped my arms around my wife and my dying daughter. I protected them as she died. I needed to do that so bad. Just before she died at 1:16 A.M. on July 20th, 2003, a wave of calm blew over my soul and I sang "Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi..." It was the last thing I said to her.

My memory of the time that followed consists largely of visual images, curiously absent from sound: Fr. Joseph incensing her casket at the funeral, shaking holy water over her grave, the image of my wife kneeling in front of her casket. The only sounds I remember were the sound of the latches on her casket clicking as they closed the lid for the final time and I realized I wouldn't see her face again until THAT day. And, as I stood over her grave and watched them lower her in another thought went through my mind... "Death, where is your sting?" It was made known to my heart without a doubt that Theresa Rose Clyde will rise again.