Caden's Life

 

I thought about Caden* again today. It happens every time I sit down at the piano. For a year in high school, my mother had arranged for me to have free piano lessons from a kind neighbor who lived down the street. I babysat her children for an hour every week, and in exchange, she gave me a 30- minute piano lesson.  

The lady had two children, a girl who was about 5 years old, and a 3-year-old, Caden. The thing about Caden was that his mother had contracted toxoplasmosis when she was pregnant with him (that’s the thing they warn pregnant women about and why they should avoid changing kitty litter) and the result for Caden was severe birth defects. At 3 years old, he sat in a special chair most of the time. He could not walk, he could not crawl, and though he was bigger than a 6-month-old, developmentally he could do only about what a 6-month-old could do.  As far as his future was concerned, children with his condition did not usually live past their 10^th birthday.

Occasionally, he would startle, arch his back and begin to cry. His mother would take him out the chair, rock him, and calm him and eventually he would calm back down and smile at her again.

Other than the startling and arching, Caden was a happy child. He smiled, he cooed, he made noises, he attempted a few simple words, and he loved to sit under the blue sky in a special swing in his backyard. He loved faces, and he loved people. His older sister accepted his differences with ease, and though his mother sometimes looked troubled, she cuddled him, carried him around, and loved gazing into his face.   

They were Christians and believed that Caden was a special gift from God. I agree with them. Once you got to know him, Caden was just any other baby, any other little child with their own personality and their own likes (Winnie the Pooh) and dislikes (being left alone.) I have no idea if the help of a 15-year-old one hour a week actually made Caden’s mother’s load easier, but I do know that Caden blessed me. I was blessed to see how a family behaves who has a special needs child, and it was oddly normal and oddly comforting. To them, Caden was just a member of the family.  Last I heard, he was still alive at about 8 years old, still sitting in a special chair, still using basic words, still wearing diapers, but still smiling. I lost track of that family long ago, and Caden is now most likely gone. I have no doubt that he is whole and healthy in the arms of Jesus.

How do we assess the worth of a life like Caden’s? In his short life, there was pain, but there was also sunshine, smiles, a sister, a mother and father, and of course, Winnie the Pooh. I know some able-bodied people who are not so lucky as Caden.

So when I sit down to re-learn all the piano I’ve forgotten over the past 20 years, my heart always goes back to Caden, and how his family modeled love and the value of all life.   

*I am not in contact with this family and do not have permission to publish their son's real name.