Tale of a Little Girl

Thinking about the implications of my post Construction and Destruction had me remembering one of my aunts. Her name was Martha and she was maybe four or five years older than I am. She was my American dad's youngest sibling.

Anyway, she was born with multiple birth defects; I guess they could be called catastrophic. Her limbs and torso were deformed; she was almost like a bug in human form. Her mind was no more than that of a baby maybe a few months old. She laughed, cried and recognized her parents and her siblings. She had to be fed, washed and have her diaper changed.

Because this was my bonus dad’s sister and his parents lived in a different state than we did at the time, I didn't get to see her until I was a teenager. And, yes, I was frightened by her. I had never seen anything like that before.

Later, Dad told us the story.

Martha was the youngest of seven with Dad being the eldest. My grandparents’ six other children were born perfectly healthy. I don't know if Grandma had been given thalidomide during her pregnancy or whether it was some other drug. But it was certain that her child had been severely injured by whatever it was.

When Martha was born and the doctors saw her situation, they advised my grandparents to have her institutionalized because she would never develop past the point of infancy. And the prognosis was correct.

The doctors also predicted that she would live no more than a year, but that prediction was totally incorrect.

Grandma and Grandpa refused to institutionalize their daughter. They brought her home and took care of her all of her life: 35 years.

Because of Martha's existence there was always someone else at home at my grandparents' house. My other aunts learned how to take care of Martha and one of them would be there if both Grandma and Grandpa had to leave the house.

The baby was never left alone.

My grandma passed away in the early 90s and, a few months later, Martha followed her. I guess she missed her mom.

Sometimes when I think of Martha and other children who are born developmentally disabled and who pass away or about those who were aborted/miscarried or other children who die due to whatever reason, I think of what they are up to in Heaven - totally healed and living forever in Christ.

Maybe Martha gets to be a tall, pretty woman with beautiful hair. Perhaps she gets to be the Fun Auntie to my children who are also there.

Or maybe she gets to be a rambunctious little girl doing all the little girl things with others like her.

And she certainly gets to hug her mom and dad and tell them that she loves them. She gets to hug them with her perfect arms and then go run and play on her perfect legs.

Perhaps Heaven is our new/old matrix - the place where things are the way they should have been.

But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.

— 1 Corinthians 2:9

Slightly different version posted on X.