Counting a Blessing - Lucy Turning 6

Blessed is a word I find myself saying a lot lately. How blessed I am. How blessed my family is. How blessed we are to have Lucy.

Six years ago, I didn't feel blessed. Lucy, my first grandchild, my daughter's child, was 12 hours old when we learned she had Down syndrome. We wept. Three days later, we were told she had holes in her heart and would need surgery. We took her home and fed her and held her and rocked her and sang to her. And we prayed.

Fear consumed us then. We worried about her health. Were her lips blue? Was she sweating from exertion or was the room too warm? We worried about her future. Would she walk? Would she talk? We worried about our future. Would the stress of all this worry pull our family apart?

Heart surgery. And we almost lost her. Then more heart surgery and, again, a crisis. Blessed? The word never crossed my mind.

Then slowly things got better.

If only life were like a book and you could peek ahead. Lucy turned 6 on Saturday. If only, when she was new and we were scared, we could have had a glimpse of Lucy now.

When she was little, 2, 3, maybe even 4, she used to practice talking in her room. Away from everyone, she would chatter, naming things, her stuffed animals, the toys in her room, the people in her books and in her life. Over and over, she'd say Mommy, Daddy, Adam, Mimi, cow, duck, cat, and every other word she knew.

She was quieter in front of people, shy until she got a word right.

It took time, but she got them right. This is Lucy. Give her time and she'll amaze you.

These are the things about her now that I never could have imagined then: that her favorite movie would be Gone With the Wind. That she would know all the characters, except Suellen. ("Who's that?" she asks every time Scarlett's sister appears on-screen. Poor Suellen — forgettable even to a child.)

That she would always race to the door to greet her mom and dad, dropping whatever it is she is doing to hug them, to tell them with her smile and her open arms — even if they've been gone just ten minutes — how glad she is to see them.

That she would love the "peace be with you" moment in church. That she would say "peace," reach for hand after hand, look into a stranger's eyes and smile. And that even the most reluctant handshaker would smile back.

And that she would love our neighbor Al, and seek him out in his yard, in his house, in my house. "Al! Al!" Katherine, his wife, the one who makes her favorite cookies, but Al the one who has her heart.

It's not all roses of course, with Lucy. She doesn't understand that the street is dangerous and that you can't sit down when you're an outfielder and that the DVD player sometimes sticks and whining doesn't unstick it.

In these ways she is a lot like a typical 6-year-old.

But she is not typical.

It takes her longer to learn and longer to understand. But when she does? It's like the circus has come to town. She says a whole sentence "I want to have a banana, please." She puts together a puzzle. She matches colors and shapes. She climbs to the top of the slide, sits, and glides down. She stands at the window and reenacts a scene from The Little Princess. The Flying Wallendas doing headstands on a tightrope couldn't thrill us more.

Sometimes when I watch children her age do things effortlessly, my heart aches a little. But then Lucy will saunter by, climb on my lap, or say "hi" and keep on walking, and I will be bowled over by her presence, by the amazing gift of her.

How blessed I am. How lucky to be loving her. And how easy she is to love.