AT TIMES, the tiny girl with the blue-green eyes can raise her head.
Other times, she doesn’t have the strength.
There are moments little Sarah Jane Donohue is able to grab at a toy. But not many.
Sarah is 16 months old, an age when most little girls are walking, playing, imitating words and kissing their moms good night.
But each time her mom, Vanessa, walks into Sarah’s room, she’s a stranger to her child.
“She smiles and she tries to do things,” Vanessa said. “She gets frustrated because she wants to be independent and move around.
“She can’t support her upper body at all. We have to carry her in our arms – it’s the only thing that satisfies her.”
Late at night, Vanessa buries her face in her daughter’s wavy, brown hair and cries. “I’m sorry,” she tells her baby. “I’m so sorry.
“Until the day I die, I will blame myself. I didn’t sense the danger,” Vanessa told me, as tears welled in my eyes.
Little Sarah was the helpless victim of a twisted baby nurse. A predator in her own home.
In June 2005, when Sarah was just 5 days old and her mom slept in another room of their Manhattan apartment, the nurse got up and shook the child with a force described by doctors as equaling that of a severe car crash. Her bones were broken, her brain severely damaged.
The most terrifying part – Sarah lost the ability to cry.
Then seven months after Sarah was hurt, three lives were shattered beyond repair. Parents Patrick and Vanessa have filed for divorce.
“We both love our daughter with bottomless hearts,” Vanessa said. Patrick won’t talk about it at all.
Last week, as a courtroom wept, Noella Allick was sentenced to 10 years in prison.
Sarah was sentenced to a lifetime of pain, her mom to an eternity of crushing guilt.
Vanessa told me about the last truly happy day of her life. It was June 5, 2005, when Sarah was born at Lenox Hill Hospital.
“She’s perfect!” her doctor gushed.
The new mother, a social worker, had lined up Allick, a mom of two, as her nurse after being assured by many parents she was worthy of trust.
On June 10 – the first night Allick was to care for the baby by herself – Vanessa told Sarah good night, and went to sleep.
By the next day, Sarah had grown lethargic. She did not eat.
Vanessa remembers Allick saying, “It’s OK. She’s a slow eater.”
By the time Sarah was 2 weeks old, she was back in the hospital.
“We didn’t even suspect her.”
But Allick eventually confessed to ferociously shaking the newborn.
Today, Sarah’s life is dominated by physical therapy, speech and occupational therapy. A hyperbaric oxygen chamber is used to stimulate her brain. She can’t tell one face from another, crawl, or eat solid food – her brain does not tell her to chew, so she might choke.
Progress, however, is measured in a smile.
“She does show joy,” said Vanessa. “When a song plays from her little lion toy, she gets excited. She starts giggling. I call her my little princess.”
A good sign: Sarah has regained her ability to cry. It’s how she communicates.
There will be many more tears in this poor child’s life – and hopefully some giggles.