Magazine article The Exceptional Parent

A Story, a Song and a Kiss

Magazine article The Exceptional Parent

A Story, a Song and a Kiss

Article excerpt

He stands hesitantly at the door, my littlest love, watching as Justin and I rock gently back and forth on the glider that serves as our throne as I read his teenaged brother one of his beloved Eric Carle books. I see him mid-sentence, and figuring he wants more pretzels or juice or something consumable I pause and ask him what he wants. "I want to say goodnight to Justin," he says and enters the room, insinuating himself on my one available thigh. My heart both clutches and expands, and I read on about the miraculous Mr. Seahorse as he gestates what looks to be like a thousand eggs for his wife. I've always loved Eric Carle.

As Zach settles on my lap, I look swiftly at Justin to see how he's taken this alteration in his routine, and a huge smile graces his face, and I relax. I want this to go well because, well, they're brothers, and although I've tried hard over the years to forge a closeness between them, it's been difficult as they don't share the same interests, and in later years Zach hasn't really wanted to try.

When the boys were very little, before Zach's regression, my youngest spent a great deal of time trying to get his brother's attention. He was always pulling on Justin's shirt, calling to him from across the room, and generally trying to get noticed. It was easier to contrive moments of connection back then; I could put both of them in Zach's crib and Zach would always take Justin's hand (and Justin would let him), and I know that satisfied Zach's desire to be seen.

Then, in the space of a few weeks, our baby lost most of his speech, developed a rash all over his body, and the light disappeared from his eyes. I can tell you I wasn't worried at that point about sibling relations one bit.

Over the course of the next few months we changed Zach's diet and started Early Intervention services as we had with his brother, and slowly our son emerged, altered, but once again speaking, and most importantly, happy. As we navigated our way a second time through his current services and prepared for the myriad of hoops we'd have to jump through to get him a special education placement I put brotherly bonding on the back burner, but never pushed it entirely from my mind.

Years passed, and Justin became more and more restricted in his interests to the same degree that Zach's world continued to widen, and I saw more and more that opportunities for them to interact became fewer and far between. Justin liked movies on his DVD player, but only the same 30 seconds over and over to Zach's desire for a full-length feature. Beach excursions became work as I battled to engage Justin's interest so we could last an hour, and eventually I stopped taking them together as leaving early didn't seem fair to my youngest beach bum. My eldest wasn't interested in any of the computer games that so enthralled our youngest, and eventually I let this dream go as I focused on getting them both to sleep, eat anything other than carbs and, most important, (thank God!) potty train.

When it comes to autism, I have my priorities.

Over the years Zach would occasionally say he wished he could play with his brother (then in the same breath would ask for a younger sibling, at which point I would emphatically tell him the store was closed). Zach made friends both within and outside his school, and his desire for an in-residence playmate waned. …

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