David Theobald
March 9, 1974 - October 7, 1982

Every child is exceptional; born with special talents, born with a uniqueness that touches those most close to them and sometimes those well beyond who they personally know.  But a child lost early to death impacts everyone around him or her in a different way that can be difficult to explain, difficult to comprehend, and at times, difficult to even want to think about.

David Theobald was no different. He was a little boy taken early in life who fought against an unseen demon; a disease he neither understood nor fully realized he had. David Theobald was just a little boy that was amazed by the world around him; a boy that seemed to grasp ideas, thoughts and issues well beyond his age. He had a zest for life that only a child can have and an inquisitiveness that many adults lose over time; an innocence unscarred by life. But David Theobald was no hero. He was just our little boy who fought the tough fight as so many other children have done before and after him.

David’s smile captured a room. His laugh catalyzed those around him to laugh along with him, drawing tears of laughter from even the sourest of souls.

And then one day it was gone. Wiped out by the identical disease that took Alexandra Scott, founder of Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation, at the same age; only eight years into what should have been a lifetime of achievement, of love, of children, of chasing a dream that only he would know or ever imagine.

Would that life, that dream have been a life of baseball playing with the Pirates, a team he loved, even though, being left-handed, he at first had a difficult time figuring out that he had to turn and run toward 1st base instead of, like most of his friends who batted right-handed, running straight ahead towards the base in front of him, which in his case happened to be 3rd?

Would he have become a wide receiver for his beloved Steelers (David was gone before we made our move to Philadelphia so he never saw the great Phillies and Eagles teams of the past decade).

Would his love of books and stories, like “The Last of the Mohicans,” his favorite book to read even at such a young age, push him to greatness as an author?

Would his life be shaped by Wandy Springer, his springing rocking horse, which he loved to bounce on when listening to Neil Diamond being played on guitar? Maybe that would have led to a life on the open range as a cowboy that would have driven him far from his East Coast roots to the plains of Montana, or maybe his love of music would have sent him off to Broadway or Hollywood?

These are the thoughts of a parent who will never know his or her child’s life beyond the shortened end. But it is also the thoughts of a parent who had the good fortune to watch a child live life to the fullest, who battled a silent and invisible disease, who made the darkest days bright and who gave so many great memories in such a short time to so many people.

That was and that is David Theobald, our son. Not a hero but a young boy who will never be forgotten. That was his life, short though it was.

Written by the Theobald Family
September 2011