Simon Maddison

Simon came along to breakfast with a friend following a beach house party in Manasquan, New Jersey, where we ended up sitting next to each other. Right there, over the breakfast dishes at the Ritz diner, "down at the Jersey shore," I began to fall in love and I haven't stopped falling yet. He was the cute British guy with the adorable accent who brought his own jar of marmite wherever he went. We got married 8 months later.

His life revolved around his family and his family revolved around him. He left for work at 6 a.m. every morning so he could be home to play with the kids before bed. He never woke me up when he left because he said the kids got me up early enough he wanted to let me sleep.

He gave each of his kids a special gift, a little part of himself for them to have as their own. To his darling little Caileigh, he gave his sense of humor. To his sweet, sweet Kyle, he gave his enormous heart. And to his precious Sydney, he gave his unwavering determination. I see these gifts in them and know that he is here with us. Sydney turned 13 months old on that horrific day. I don't know when the 11th will go back to marking the day when she ages another month, but for now it is a constant reminder of how precious life is and how lucky we are for the time we have with each other. We miss him more than I ever thought a heart could.

In a letter Queen Elizabeth wrote for the Memorial Service in New York City on September 20th, she said, "Grief is the price we pay for love." We have loved so deeply, so now we grieve so deeply.
Tribute submitted by Maureen Maddison.


Kept His British Habits

Simon Maddison liked his marmite. He was British, and it was not easy to find the spread — which is made from yeast —in America, so he carried his own jar.

It was one of the routines his wife, Maureen, found so endearing. He kept a jar at her parents' house. He kept a jar at her parents' shore house. He carried a jar on vacations. One thing must be clear: she liked his habit, but she hated marmite. It's an acquired taste and smell, and she never acquired it. "It's gross." she said.

Mr. Maddison, 40, a software consultant for the eSpeed division of Cantor Fitzgerald, lived in Florham Park, N.J., making sure not to wake his wife when he left at 6 a.m., and making sure he got home in time to play with his three children before their bedtime. Their favorite game was "sandwich," with pillows as the bread and the children as the ingredients.

Mrs. Maddison sees traces of her husband in the children. Caileigh, 7, has his sense of humor; Kyle, 4, his enormous heart; Sydney, 1, his unwavering determination.

They also have picked up some British expressions. They say "serviette" instead of "napkin," "boot" for the trunk of the car. If Kyle said he was going to play with his trucks, Mr. Maddison would correct him: "No, you're going to play with your lorries."

All three children have also acquired his fondness for marmite. Holding her nose, Mrs. Maddison spreads it over their toast and bagels. She'll never remove it from the house. "Actually," she said, "it sort of smells better now."