Family

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A friend of mine has two young sons, 7 and 5 years old, respectively, both diagnosed with autism. The older one, Sam, functions better in the practical areas of personal care and language than his younger sibling, Gabe. Recently, during a difficult time in my life, Beth, and her equally generous husband, Larry, took me in and let me work off my rent by helping with their boys. Over the course of six months, the boys became even more attached to me than they already were – especially Sam.
One night, he came wandering into my room and climbed onto my bed, asking me to play with him. While we were playing a simple game of Hide and Seek, I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was getting past Sam’s bedtime. Being told that it was time for him to go to sleep didn’t seem to faze him in the least. He remained sitting on my bed and looked at me expectantly, as if to see what we should do about the situation. I asked him if he wanted to fall asleep next to Beth before being moved into his own room – as was the nightly ritual. Due to night terrors, he just couldn’t fall asleep by himself. He pointed at me and said "yes". I took that to mean that he wanted to fall asleep right where he was.
So, Sam crawled underneath the covers, he snuggled as deep into my arms as he could, and instantly began to drift away. I let him lay there for the full 30 minutes it usually took him to fall so deeply asleep that he didn’t notice being moved into his own room and tucked into his own bed. While he slept, I listened to his breathing and reveled in the peace of the moment. It was the most precious half-hour of my life.
I love other peoples’ children. In the most primitive sense, they are all of the fun without all of the work. I can play with my nieces and buy them anything pink or sparkly and it instantly makes them happy. I can teach them the whole "see-food" joke, which tends to annoy their grandmother, or how to toast marshmallows over an open candle flame so they can make s’mores. I can be the "cool Aunt Laurie" – and I strive to maintain that title with great effort.
The only time I didn’t really like other people’s kids was when I was a kid myself. My younger brother, Jason, who had Down’s syndrome, made being a big sister a more difficult transition than I had anticipated. After having trouble becoming pregnant, my parents decided to adopt, choosing me from a New York City agency. For those first four years, I had their undivided attention, and was their "precious gift from God", according to my Mom. Being spoiled by their constant love and fawning, I was loving life as much as any toddler can.
My mother became pregnant and both she and my father were overjoyed. In the early 1970’s, the tests available today to detect birth defects had not been discovered yet. So, when Jason was born in May, 1973, they were surprised to discover his disability. Their surprise soon turned to sadness and then to acceptance of their newborn son’s disabilities. However, it put a strain on their marriage that neither saw coming nor had the strength to stop. Eventually, when I was eleven and Jason was seven, our parents divorced. And, immediately, I was silently expected to step up and be a parent, helping my mother raise my brother – taking on the role of constant caregiver.
While growing up, Jason became a thorn in my side, and I didn’t like not having a brother I could relate to. I couldn’t do all the things I saw my peers doing with their typical siblings. I resented him and the responsibility put upon me at an early age to care for him. I wanted to be able to go out with my friends, or take piano lessons, or do anything that would keep me from having to deal with my brother. However, most weekends were spent at home, while Mom ran out and did errands or whatever needed to be done to help our family survive. Meanwhile, I made sure Jason didn’t run into the street or hurt himself in any way. I didn’t want my needs overlooked. But they often were as a sacrifice for the family’s greater good.
Recognizing that I needed to have some time of my own, my mother let me work outside of the house when I turned 16 so I could earn money for a car and pay for the insurance. My first car, a 1977 Dodge Aspen, became my saving grace. I could leave the house and have time to myself. I could start going to the Youth Group at the town’s Congregational church and hang out with my friends more. I suddenly had some freedom. And what little I had was greatly appreciated. My mother also suggested that I go away to college, living on campus and being able to take in everything that university life had to offer.
However, when I was home from school, and after graduation when I had an apartment 20 minutes away, it was still assumed that when needed, I would always be around to baby-sit Jason. Looking back, I know that my Mom and her new husband, Harvey, should be allowed to have a break from being caregivers so that they could go out for an evening. But it didn’t make my resentment of my brother, at the time, any less painful. Eventually, after he turned 24, the state’s Dept. of Mental Retardation informed my mother that they had a placement for Jason in a supervised living program located in the next town over. Finally, my Mom could start to live her own life, and I could be free from the guilt of wanting to have one too.
In 1997, the Lord opened the door for a wonderful opportunity to teach English in Japan for a missionary board. For two years, I taught everyone from children to grandparents everything from their alphabet to conversational English. Living outside the city of Sendai, in the suburb of Ayashi – which was a five to six hour drive north of Tokyo - I was surrounded by mountains and farms, and just a few steps away from one of the churches I taught in. I was also just down the road from the missionary couple that supervised the program I worked with, and became a part of their family. I loved the experience and my relationship with the Lord became the most intimate it had ever been before. There were no distractions keeping me from spending time with Him – since I couldn’t understand the Japanese language enough to get into the television programs – and because I was truly a stranger in a strange land, I had to rely upon Him to uphold me and care for all of my needs.
During the two years I spent in Japan, I didn’t really have anyone to worry about but myself. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t responsible for anyone else but me. I saw the resentment I held toward Jason for what it was – hurt that had built up because my own needs and desires were ignored to meet his. God showed me that to acknowledge my feelings was healthy, but they had to be healed and I needed to forgive Jason for what wasn’t his fault in the first place. My Heavenly Father, knowing my needs better than I did, showed me that I could now decide how much I wanted to be involved in my brother’s life, and that my mother could learn to respect those boundaries.
In 1999, when I came home, my mother and I sat down and I told her how I felt. I explained that I wanted to be asked before it was just assumed that I would help out with Jason in any way. She understood and acknowledged that if God hadn’t provided me as her daughter, she wouldn’t have been able to deal with Jason on her own. With tears, I thanked her for realizing my pain and part in helping our family make through the difficult times.
Jason and I are very close – but he’s definitely learned to assert his independence. After dinner out or some family occasion, when I drop him off at his condo (which is supervised by a local program for people with Special Needs), he tells me not to bother walking him to the door. “I’m fine. I’ll call you later, Laurie. Love you.” I watch him walk in his front door and then drive off – thanking God for watching over my brother.
There has been many a time when I‘ve wondered why God put Jason in my life, and I keep coming up with the same conclusion. I wouldn’t be the person that I am if he wasn’t there to soften some of my harder edges. I wouldn’t be as sensitive to people with special needs or their families. And, without that sensitivity, I would’ve missed out on a lot. God had His sovereign reasons. Whether I understood them or not.
And I can’t help but think that I owe Jason thanks for those thirty minutes with Sam – and God’s sovereign reasons for things we can’t explain.

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