‘Baby’ Paul Waddell, R.I.P.
With apologies to those who expect prison based content, and those who eschew the Creator, I write briefly today about my baby cousin, Paul. As discussed in Sunday’s post, brother Greg Doyle and I lost our sole male cousin, “Baby Paul” Waddell on March 8, 2014–He would have been 52 in August.
Now, regardless of where one lines up on the scale of faith, we must all certainly agree: That which cannot be explained in this world rationally or scientifically is either miraculous or simply inexplicable or both.
We can deny such events transpired, as many do. But for those of us who saw them, the events cannot be denied. Miracles, or from the scientific perspective, inexplicable events, happen. My baby cousin, Paul Waddell, was living proof until a few weeks ago.
Make no mistake about it, friends, one morning in 1964, 2 year old Paul Waddell of Riverside had a car roll over his tiny head. By all accounts, he was lifeless. A Riverside County Sheriff’s Deputy, Paul’s Uncle and my father, Jerry Doyle, was so certain Paul’s wounds were mortal, he decided Baby Paul’s only chance was to forgo the ambulance and drive to the closest ER.
Paul had tire tread-marks across his face –He was not breathing.
Last week, 50 years later, Paul died of a particularly virulent and vicious cancer. He died in severe pain, yet he prayed only for the well-being and salvation of his friends and family. Paul never prayed for healing–He wanted his friends and family to receive comfort in the knowledge he was at peace.
For my part, I ignored the miracle that was Paul Waddell until I realized he was dying. I pray each and every one of you open your eyes to the everyday miracles in your lives. Don’t take them for granted.
And, though you do not know her, I ask that all who share my faith in the God of Abraham to pray for Paul’s mother, Lorraine, who has lost the will to live for the loss of Baby Paul.
Thanks to all who understand why Greg and I must share this pain.
So it is, I feel it is my responsibility to reiterate, whether or not you care to accept it, Paul Steven Waddell was born on August 15, 1962, survived what all who were present described as a mortal injury in the summer of 1964…and died almost 50 years later.
I know a miracle when I see one. I am ashamed I didn’t it see for what it was until I lost Baby Paul. That said, each and every one of you has a miracle in your midst and, chances are, you are similarly unimpressed. Open your eyes.
However you view the Almighty, know that Paul Waddell lived for 50 years on borrowed time. Surely, it was for our benefit–the hand of God isn’t all that invisible, is it?
And if that doesn’t work for you, like it or not, you are in our prayers.
Good bye, Baby Paul.
Good bye, Little Bubba.