Deep in thought in the shower, I sleepily return to early morning awareness and open the curtain to step out. There on the bath mat, her own shower cap askew, stands my daughter like a personal valet, thick, fluffy towels extended.
"Hair towel," she says. "Body towel."
I accept them one at a time, wrapping my long hair in the first, marveling at her thoughtful care.
When her hands are empty, she puts them together to form a perfect heart shape, "Love you."
Yeah, I'm that kind of rich.
Dried and robed, I assist Bethany with her shower and hand her her towel, but making that perfect heart eludes me.
Hugging me goodbye before the arrival of the school bus, she comments on the hasty meal I had served: "Love that breakfast. Licious."
Another day, when our morning preparations have taken too long, I drive her to the high school, sign her in, and escort her to her classroom. She holds my hand as we walk the long corridors, smiling at her friends, who greet her with a high-five or a "What's up, Bethany?"
What's "up" is Down.
Down syndrome has defined her life and, I sometimes think, too much of mine.
At 15, Bethany is also a leukemia survivor and a veteran of numerous surgeries. She struggled to learn to walk, accomplishing that feat at 3 1/2. Reading came slowly, math more so; her journey to intelligible speech continues.
She mastered the more important skills of joy and love early and easily. She plays peek-a-boo with every baby we see in the grocery store, and seeks out her elderly friends at church for a hug. She cheers when I tell her we are having asparagus for dinner.
But the extra chromosome that defines Down syndrome can cause myriad physical and intellectual problems. When one seems to be licked, another can crop up; everything from heart and respiratory problems to scoliosis, low thyroid and leukemia to early aging and Alzheimer's can be blamed on that tiny extra dose of genetic material.
That chromosome also bears responsibility for the consternation and anxiety the parents feel, at least in the first tumultuous years with a baby with Down syndrome, until the child teaches the parent how to cope with the unexpected challenges.
I like to think I'm past the worst. As horrible as the health struggles of Bethany's first several years were, they are ... past. Although patience is slow in arriving, I've found joy, acceptance and appreciation.
Are these the prize for enduring the unthinkable? Do I get to keep them even if the health issues return, or new ones crop up?
I'm going to have to procrastinate on worrying about that. I have to look up some more kid jokes. I don't need comedy writers like the guy in the lottery commercial has. All I need are the 1960s joke books I loved as a child.
While most verbal humor is beyond her, Bethany giggles unstoppably when I tell her a moldy oldie from my childhood. "Why did Batman go into the Bat Cave? He had to go to the bat-room."
Most teenagers roll their eyes at parent humor; if I accompany even the lamest joke with a dramatic gesture or silly face, Bethany finds it hilarious.
If that's not joy, I don't know what is.
Yeah, that kind of rich.
Bonnie J. Hellurn lives in Averill Park.