God is good and everything he gives us is good.

I remember standing with my husband near the elevators on the seventh floor of the hospital. We had just heard the doctor’s diagnosis. I leaned against the wall, staring out the window at the hills of the city. Exhausted and confused, I kept wondering, where do we go from here?

I was no stranger to challenge. Fourteen years earlier, I had rescued my three children from a vicious gas fire. They were unharmed but I suffered second and third degree burns that covered 85 percent of my body. Given a 10-percent chance of survival, I went through the daily torture of having my bandages changed, feeling as though I were being skinned alive. You’ve been through hard times before, I reminded myself, now.

ike molten steel, I had made it through the forge and come out stronger. But my strength was being tested once again. Right after her birth, we were told that our new daughter displayed some symptoms of Down Syndrome, but it was not until now, her fifth day of life, that our fears were confirmed.
My husband and I struggled to keep each other afloat, but we were both sinking. It was hard to imagine that this tiny little baby could be the cause of such weighty emotions. Word had spread through the ward, and I felt the other mothers looking at me but avoiding eye contact.

One nurse made a point of describing how much joy these children give to those around them. Although I knew she was trying to help, I became even more confused. If these children give so much joy, why were we feeling such grief? Sadness was an anchor pulling me into the depths and keeping my thoughts far from hope.

We named her Hasia, Hebrew for “May God have mercy.” This name marked the first step towards acknowledging how much heavenly help we would need to raise this child.

Coming home from the hospital meant facing many wrenching moments. How to break the news to my family? I was reluctant to tell my many friends who, like me, were over thirty-five. Would I be instilling fear in their hearts? Would this birth frighten them, and make them think twice about having children at their age?

As the days passed, I felt compelled to find out all I could about what the future held in store. I wanted all the statistics. How long could Hasia live? How tall could she be? How much could she learn? What would she be able to do? Would she ever be able to get married, to have children? I had felt no need to ask these questions when our previous children were born. I had taken it for granted that they would all grow up and live productive and happy lives. This is normal. This is what we hope for. And this is what we expect.

I turned to the experts, the books, the studies, mistakenly thinking that all my questions could be answered. But we are only mortals; the future is revealed to us, day by day, and we cannot glimpse beyond that. As the weeks and months passed, I struggled to come to terms with my new reality. Not knowing how this baby would develop or even if she would survive the next few months made me feel like a first time mother, with fears and worries I had long ago left behind.

My children were the ones to teach me the meaning of unconditional love. They welcomed Hasia and loved her, simply because she was their sister. As I watched them play, I thought, If only I could exhibit such acceptance.

Witnessing my children’s unquestioning love forced me to re-examine my values. As the cloud slowly lifted, I could begin to think again. There is a formula in life: God is good. God is good and everything he gives us is ultimately good, although not necessarily easy or painless. Faith lightened our load and we began to look toward the future.

Over the years there is much I have learned from Hasia. She is always the first to go over to children who are crying, for any reason. Resting a hand on their shoulder, she sits there quietly, without words, just comforting them with her presence. Seeing her do this, over and over again, has given me the ability to perform difficult acts of kindness: visiting the sick or those in mourning. So often we are afraid to approach these people because we fear we have nothing to offer. Hasia taught me that sometimes just being there is enough.

At dinner she often motions for each of us to hold the hand of the one sitting next to us. At the end of this ritual, the whole family is holding hands around the table, feeling profound unity and love. It is this child, this special soul, who is able to bring us all together.

We have come to see that Hasia is a gift, and we treasure her. By putting aside our expectations, we are able to feel her essence, pure sweetness and joy. Our daughter has taught us to appreciate every accomplishment in each of our children, to see the good in each other. And there is so much good to see…