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 By
Amanda Condon Adamczyk '97
In the early morning hours of Sept. 1, Clare Condon Adamczyk
was born. Our baby was finally here. A healthy daughter;
our world could not get any better.
As we awoke on the morning of Sept. 11 our biggest worry
was Clare's belly button; the umbilical cord had not fallen
off and was turning red. As others prepared for work, my
husband, William, home on paternity leave, and I gathered
together all of Clare's necessary odds and ends—still
not quite adept at leaving the house with a baby—and
headed to the doctor's office.
- 9:20 a.m.: We are assured that all is well with Clare's
belly button, and there is nothing to worry about.
- 9:30 a.m.: We pay the parking attendant, who, as we pass
him three dollars, says something about planes and the
World Trade Center. We drive away looking at each other
in confusion, "What was he talking about?"
- 9:50 a.m.: We are in front of the television; our world
has changed. "Clare had 11 days of peace," I
say to Will, "I wonder when it will be back."
We spent the next days glued to the television. We took
shifts with Clare and watched continuous news coverage at
all hours of the day. I longed for normalcy. I sat rocking
Clare and wondered what a "normal" childhood would
be for her. Will we be attacked again? Will Clare grow up
feeling safe?
We found that friends were flocking to the apartment. After
work, on the weekends, mornings and nights, they came to
see Clare. In the days following the attack we brought her
to a picnic, and people were drawn to her. The wonderful
creative miracle of new life has not been impeded by the
attacks. Clare seems to have a calming affect on people;
in her first weeks of life she has done more pastoral work
than I have in seven years of studying theology.
Two weeks went by, Will had gone back to work, and I was
home with Clare. One morning while feeding Clare, I was watching
a television show that did a segment on newlyweds and new
parents. They were asking young couples if they intend to
have children soon. Will they have more children? Do they
worry about raising a child in today's world?
I asked myself the same questions, and then I realized
that bringing a child into this world is a concrete way of
saying that we believe that the world is a good place. Terrorism
cannot stop us from loving, nurturing and teaching Clare.
Terrorism cannot stop God's manifestations of love on earth.
Terrorism cannot break the communities of faith among us,
and as an example of that, two months after the events of
Sept. 11, we witnessed Clare's baptism into the community
of our Church. In caring for Clare we pronounce to those
who hate life that we love life and will not be scared by
them. Life is miraculous. God's love is present always.
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