I
was then an only child who had everything I could ever want.
But even a
pretty, spoiled and rich kid could get lonely once in a
while, so when Mom
told me that she was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I imagined
how wonderful
you would be and how we'd always be together and how much
you would look
like me.
So, when
you were born, I looked at your tiny hands and feet and
marveled at how beautiful you were. We took you home and I
showed you
proudly to my friends. They would touch you and sometimes
pinch you, but
you never reacted. When you were five months old, some
things began to
bother Mom. You seemed so unmoving and numb, and your cry
sounded odd --
almost like a kitten's.
So we
brought you to many doctors. The thirteenth
doctor who looked at you quietly said you have the "cry
du chat"
(pronounced kree-do-sha) syndrome, 'cry of the cat' in
French.
When I
asked what that meant, he looked at me with pity and
softly said, "Your
brother will never walk nor talk." The doctor told us
that it is a
condition that afflicts one in 50,000 babies, rendering
victims severely
retarded.
Mom was
shocked and I was furious. I thought it was unfair. When
we went home, Mom took you in her arms and cried. I looked
at you and
realized that word will get around that you're not normal.
So to hold on
to my popularity, I did the unthinkable ... I disowned you.
Mom and
Dad
didn't know but I steeled myself not to love you as you
grew. Mom and Dad
showered you with love and attention and that made me
bitter. And as the
years passed, that bitterness turned to anger, and then
hate.
Mom
never
gave up on you. She knew she had to do it for your sake.
Every time she
put your toys down, you'd roll instead of crawl. I watched
her heart break
every time she took away your toys and strapped your tummy
with foam so
you couldn't roll. You'd struggle and you'd cry in that
pitiful way, the
cry of the kitten. But she still didn't give up. And then
one day, you
defied what all your doctors said -- you crawled.
When Mom
saw this, she
knew that you would eventually walk. So when you were
still crawling at
age four , she'd put you on the grass with only your
diapers on knowing
that you hate the feel of the grass your skin, and smile
at your
discomfort.
You
would crawl to the sidewalk and Mom would put you back.
Again and again, Mom repeated this on the lawn.
Until one day, Mom saw
you pull yourself up and toddle off the grass as fast as
your little legs
could carry you.
Laughing
and crying, she shouted for Dad and I to come.
Dad hugged you crying openly. I watched from my bedroom
window this
heartbreaking scene.
Over the years, Mom taught you to speak, read and write.
From then on, I
would sometimes see you walk outside, smell the flowers,
marvel at the
birds, or just smile at no one. I began to see the beauty
of the world
around me, the simplicity of life and the wonders of this
world, through
your eyes. It was then that I realized that you were my
brother and no
matter how much I tried to hate you, I couldn't, because I
had grown to
love you.
During the next few days, we again became acquainted with
each other. I
would buy you toys and give you all the love that a sister
could ever give
to her brother. And you would reward me by smiling and
hugging me. But I
guess, you were never really meant for us. On your tenth
birthday, you
felt severe headaches.
The doctor's diagnosis -- leukemia.
Mom gasped and Dad held her, while I
fought hard to keep my tears from falling. At that moment,
I loved you all
the more. I couldn't even bear to leave your side
Then the doctors told us that your only hope was to have a bone marrow transplant.
You
became
the subject of a nationwide donor search. When at last we
found the right
match, you were too sick, and the doctor reluctantly ruled
out the
operations.
Since then, you underwent chemotherapy and radiation.
Even at the end, you continued to pursue life. Just a
month before you
died, you made me draw up a list of things you wanted to
do when you got
out of the hospital. Two days after the list was completed,
you asked the
doctors to send you home.
There, we ate ice cream and cake, run across the
grass, flew kites, went fishing, took pictures of one
another and let the
balloons fly.
I remember the last conversation that we had. You said
that if you die,
and if I need of help, I could send you a note to heaven
by tying it on
the string any a balloon and letting it fly. When you said
this, I started
crying. Then you hugged me. Then again, for the last
time, you got sick.
That last night, you asked for water, a back rub, a cuddle.
Finally, you
went into seizure with tears streaming down your face.
Later, at the
hospital, you struggled to talk but the words wouldn't
come.
I know what
you wanted to say. "I hear you," I whispered.
And for the last time, I
said, "I'll always love you and I will never forget
you. Don't be afraid.
You'll soon be with God in heaven."
Then, with my tears flowing freely, I
watched the bravest boy I had ever known finally stop
breathing.
Dad, Mom
and I cried until I felt as if there were no more
tears left. Patrick was
finally gone, leaving us behind
>From then on, you were my source of
inspiration. You showed me how to love life and live life
to the fullest.
With your simplicity and honesty, you showed me a world
full of love and
caring. And you made me realize that the most important
thing in this life
is to continue loving without asking why or how and
without setting any
limit.
Thank you, my little brother, for all these.
Your sister,
Sarah
