Requiem for a Babysitter

More than a decade ago, a wise working mother told me “A babysitter is a part of your family … until she isn’t.”

The context of that pearl of wisdom. was a discussion among a group of us about how much our babysitters knew about us — the ins and outs of our family life, our relationship with our spouse, how dirty our bathrooms were. Working mothers and babysitters have an almost sacred relationship — we trust you with our kids, and we trust you to keep our secrets.

Joe and I hired Sandy Madeira to take care of Summer 3 days a week in the fall of 1998, when I went back to work part time. Our preemie baby was 6 months old, still tiny, but she and I were both ready to broaden our horizons.

Sandy had been recommended by a friend. I had interviewed a couple other people but I knew Sandy was the one. She was the widow of a Borough fisherman, and she had raised 5 children. In retrospect, I realize Sandy was only 59 when we met her. At the time I thought she was much older. Her life had not been easy.

She was rough around the edges, still had vestiges of her Lowell, Mass., accent, and had strong opinions about what I needed to have in the fridge and pantry for her lunch, snacks and beverages.

But what care she took of that baby. That cranky, colicky, wouldn’t-nap baby. She walked Summer for miles in the stroller in good weather, and rocked her for hours in front of the TV when it wasn’t. She kept copious notes in a journal I left for her, chronicling food and formula intake, poops and pees, and various random observances.

When Max arrived, Sandy stayed with us. She would push that 65-pound double stroller over the viaduct so Summer could go to the playground. She filled up the blow-up pool in the yard so they could splash when it was hot. When Max started to talk, he had a bit of a Boston accent. “Summah!”, Max and Sandy would say.

Her impact on us was evident. We had “Sandy snacks” (Chex Mix), “Sandy Soup” (Lipton Cup Of soup), Sandy Fruit (canned fruit cocktail). She gently taught me a whole lot of mothering tricks without me even knowing it was happening.

When they went to school she stayed with us, getting them off the bus every day.

And then, 14 years after she arrived at our back door, we realized we didn’t need her anymore. And she was gone.

Except she wasn’t, because Sandy was family. She would drop by, bringing her infamous Mac and cheese, and sit at the kitchen table and get caught up with the kids. We included her in all our family milestones and parties. We would see her at Christmas and birthdays.

As the years went by we saw her less. But we called to invite her to Summer’s high school graduation 2 years ago, and she was thrilled to come. She gave Summer a card that said, in her signature scrawl, “You are the granddaughter I never had.”

Sandy’s birthday was May 2. She turned 79. She died on Tuesday, a day after having a massive stroke at home.

Sandy Madeira started out as a babysitter and became a member of our family. Always. ❤️