rm_coral54 63F
20 posts
7/11/2005 10:05 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm


Dear Patrick,

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 on your skin. Then she'd leave
you there. I would sometimes watch from the window 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 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 of any 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,

There are times when we get discouraged by things that happen
and by people around us. Times when we want to give up on
someone because we don't love him anymore. Times when we hate
ourselves for hating others. Times when we stop loving because
people fall short of our expectations. To love without asking
why or how, without setting any limit... is this how we love?
Or is our love defined by how much we gain or how much someone
makes us happy? We should love a person not because of anything
else but simply because we love him, nothing more, nothing less.
Our love becomes conditional when we begin to put a price
tag on someone. When that person falls below certain limits
then he wouldn't get as much attention and love that he would
have been given, having been more qualified. We are disillusioned
if we think we're beautiful and only deserve someone just like
us because true love can see beyond what the eyes can't. Love
doesn't measure, weigh or gauge a person.

Love just loves. It is the very basic yet so difficult formula
in the success of any relationship. To love unconditionally is
to love beyond the bounds of what limits us, race and creed,
wealth and poverty, sickness and health and suffering and
happiness. Love knows no bounds and only when we learn how
to conquer the limits of what keeps us away from others, can
love take on a new meaning. One that doesn't ask why or how.
One that simply believes. One that simply loves.

Bloom where you are make a

letsbelesbies 51F
8 posts
7/13/2005 9:01 am

wow. I'm at a loss for words....

Become a member to create a blog