The Village

Our grandson Quincy celebrated his second birthday on Saturday. His moms put on an amazing bash, an open house in the afternoon. The table was laden with delicious food, beautifully prepared by my caterer daughter-in-law; my daughter had made a fish cake, colorfully decorated and oozing with child-friendly frosting, and there was a giant cooler full of drinks. The guests ranged from grandparent age to babies not yet confident on their legs.

What all fifty of us had in common was Quincy, this most fortunate of children raised and loved by our village. This child was desired and planned for, conceived by artificial insemination. It was to have been a perfect pregnancy. The ultrasound decisively said the baby was female. But in the last few months of it, it became apparent that there was something terribly wrong. My daughter was covered in an angry rash, the baby wasn't growing enough. She went to specialists and no one knew what was happening. She is an information specialist by training and tracked down what turned out to be the correct diagnosis of Choliostasis (sp?), life threatening for mother and child, so she immediately checked in to the hospital to deliver Quincy by C section, a month early.

Andy and I were in New York City doing a long planned whirlwind of urban culture. I remember the constant cell phone calls, updates on everybody's condition. Then, when we were in a restaurant near Lincoln Center I came close to praying. The waiter noticed our stricken faces and as he did the phone rang again. One of the aunts on the line to tell us that, though it was hairy, the baby had been born, and it seemed that our daughter and the baby would live. Everyone in the restuarant cheered. I cried. "But," said the aunt, "there's this problem. The baby is a BOY! It's not Olivia, but Quincy."

After dinner we went shopping for preemie clothes-in blue. We went to the wonderful opera then, feeling incredibly fortunate. The idea of losing a daughter had been too much to bear.

And now, seeing this strapping two year old, far from that tiny widget he was back then, I rejoice. At his party he was serene and focused. He never melted down as one expects birthday boys and girls would. He was most interested in playing with his old familiar true toys. As grandma I think him to be the cutest child on earth (as I think of my other grandchildren are too.)

What's special about Quincy is that he lives here in our village, surrounded by family and friends who care about him and are helping him grow to be the man he's meant to be. Every week, Quincy is a part of some sort of village gathering. We share meals, fun times at various homes or at the library story hour, or at parks and museums.

We are the grandparents and we love and appreciate all the help from our village of family and friends in raising this wonderful boy.