Boy’s Life Ends After Years of Struggle, Hope

It is a matter of speculation whether Tadd Blakeborough had any idea of the amount of love he received in his short lifetime.

Crippled by brain damage after nearly drowning just before he turned 2 years old, Tadd became the focus of intense human dedication as neighbors and strangers banded together to exercise his unguided muscles and limbs.

For 6 hours a day, 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year for more than 5 years, teams of five volunteers would conduct “patterning” exercises on Tadd’s body, vigorously moving his limbs and stimulating his senses with the hope that they could somehow retrain his brain to take charge.

They did it for the reward of an occasional smile and the conviction that they were doing the youngster some good, mentally or physically.

On Monday, 9-year-old Tadd was buried, his frail body having finally succumbed to respiratory failure.

Those who knew Tadd say their work with him was not futile, no more than his life was futile.

“You dear people have been patient, patient, patient. What did Tadd give you? Patience. His life was brief, but it wasn’t incomplete,” the Rev. Joe Silvey said during services at Emmanuel Faith Community Church. “Don’t you dare think that Tadd’s life didn’t serve God.”

Tadd was the youngest of Bill and Ellen Blakeborough’s four children. The family moved to Escondido from Whittier in December, 1977--just before his second birthday.

A few days later, Tadd fell into the backyard swimming pool. His parents figured he was floating face down in the pool for about 10 minutes before he was discovered, a plastic riding toy floating nearby.

Mrs. Blakeborough gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and he was rushed to Palomar Memorial Hospital. An hour later, his heart resumed beating.

The toddler was in a coma for two weeks, his body stiff as a board. But when he was weaned of life-support equipment, he lived on his own. The next month, he was flown to Philadelphia for brain surgery; a shunt was implanted to release spinal fluid from the brain. His body relaxed, and his parents began the long and arduous challenge of an in-home physical therapy program, choosing that over the option of having Tadd institutionalized.

With the therapy, they hoped that his brain would resume functioning. At least, the exercise would keep his body in reasonably good physical shape.

He was swung upside down and rolled and tumbled on the floor; he was laid out on the kitchen table and his arms, legs and head were moved in all different directions in unison. Strobe lights were triggered, kitchen pans banged, different flavors of ice cream were put on his tongue, different smells were placed near his nose. He was sung to, and pictures of his favorite toys were shown to him.

Day in, day out, week in, week out, year in, year out.

“When we first started working with him, I’d come home in tears, so grateful that my own children were healthy,” said Sara O’Brien, who with her husband, Jim, worked on Tadd every Saturday morning for years.

More than 250 people worked with Tadd, most for years at a time before tiring. During the last two years, the workouts decreased as he received attention, instead, at the Nicolaysen Center for the disabled.

In the early years, the volunteers believed Tadd was showing signs of mental improvement. “Some of the patterners were absolutely convinced he would smile intentionally at them,” said Norma Cwiek, one of the veteran volunteers. “I think he smiled because he was comfortable, and maybe he could feel our love.”

In more recent years, however, the realization set in among the volunteers that Tadd was not showing the signs of dramatic improvement that everyone had hoped for. Still, he was benefiting physically from the patterning exercises; he did not get bed sores; his limbs were flexible, and his complexion was healthy.

“We all felt that, if nothing else, we were keeping him from hurting,” Cwiek said.

Because of complications related to his injury, he developed respiratory problems; on Wednesday, he died.

At Tadd’s funeral on Monday, Silvey told of his admiration for the patience shown over the last seven years not only by the volunteers, but most importantly by Tadd’s parents and siblings, who lived with the youngster and his handicap around the clock.

“Tadd is now free to run, free to play, free to enjoy the presence of the Lord Jesus,” Silvey said. “And you are now free to enjoy your lives, to go on with your own living.”

Silvey read a poem by Ellen Blakeborough:

Dear Tadd, if you could move your arms, you could hold your mommy tight;

With your legs you’d meet your daddy when he comes home at night.

Your skin would feel the warming of the sun’s morning light--

These were our prayers for you.

Your eyes would see the sparkles like diamonds or the snow;

Your voice would join the chatter of children on the go;

Your nose would smell the spices in the cupboard in a row--

These were our prayers for you.

God gave you a family to make your house a home;

And people to love you, as if you were their own.

Now your time with us is over; you’ll have a better home.

These were our prayers for you.”