Friends 

Copyright Gwen Vesterback 

It was one of those weepy hours in the middle of a dark and stormy December night. I lay in my hospital bed thinking of the baby I had recently borne. The doctor said she has Down Syndrome. 

My imagination raced ahead, five, ten, fifteen years. What will the future hold? "My baby will never have any friends!" The lament echoed in my mind. 

The next day I was telling a visitor about my nighttime worries. "Nonsense," she said. "She'll have more friends than you do." I nodded my head and dried my tears. "You're right," I said. But deep down inside, I couldn't quite believe it. 

Five years passed. It's another dark and stormy December night. I am taking my daughter to the Christmas party put on by her daycare. Before we even get through the door, I can hear the kids shouting. "Here comes Ellie!" "Ellie's coming!" "It's Ellie!" "Ellie's here!" 

As we struggle out of hats, mittens, scarves, boots, coats and snowpants, a group of children gathers. They can hardly wait to take her hand and lead her off into the music.

 She makes the rounds greeting and hugging the people she knows. I note with approval that she doesn't hug the strangers. 

My heart swells with joy and my eyes fill with tears as my thought go back to that hospital five years ago. I think of that poor deluded woman in bed in the dark, wracked with sobs of sorrow. "My baby will never have any friends!" she cries. 

Oh, no! If only she could see this night! This baby has an abundance of friends. 

But, I suppose, that sad woman would still not quite believe it.