A Letter To My First Born

Dear Easton,

First of all, I want you to know how unbelievably amazing you are.  You are the boy who made me a mom and I'm so grateful God chose you for me.  You are so incredibly kind, patient, inquisitive, smart- holy moly are you smart, and compassionate.  I've never seen such compassion in a person your age.

I can't even tell you the joy you bring to me and your dad.  But I know life hasn't been easy.  I'm sorry.  I know as you and your brothers have grown our family has had to take the road less traveled. The autism road.  And all the while you've just rolled with it.  So many times you've wanted to do something or go somewhere and we couldn't.  Those were times autism had us in it's grips or we were so utterly exhausted we couldn't fathom leaving the house.

There was so much we were trying to figure out in those early years.  Trying to figure out why your brother couldn't sleep through the night, why he wouldn't eat, why he screamed and cried for hours on end and so many other really hard things.  And I'll admit, while we tried to figure these things out, while we had to devote so much time and attention to your brother we sometimes didn't have the energy to give you the time you so much deserved.

I've always wondered how all of this will affect you.  Will all of what you've experienced make you angry?  Make you impatient? Will it make you bitter or hold a grudge?  I know I second guess myself every day.  Wondering if we're making the right decisions for you and your brothers.  Whether how we've handled certain situations was the right way.

But they way you deal with things have really opened my eyes, buddy.  Over the years I've seen you try to help your brother when he's in a severe meltdown, offering him items that might comfort him.  I've seen you talk to him with such sweetness when you're trying to help and guide him when he needs to be redirected.  And then something you did last week brought me to tears.

On the 4th of July we went to a parade.  We know parades can be stressful for your brother- the loud noises, the crowds of people- it's all overwhelming for him.  But we need to keep trying, for his sake and to keep normalcy for you and Christian.  Charlie was having a tough time from the beginning of the parade, but was keeping it together quite well.  He sat with dad and Sunny a few feet behind us in the shade.  I stayed with you and Christian on the curb to watch the parade go by.  And then the floats started throwing out candy.  The first big handful you brought back and you started putting several pieces of candy in a bag.  I quickly reminded you that wasn't your bag, it was Charlie's candy bag.  You looked at me as you put the remaining few pieces of candy in your own bag and said, "I know, I don't want him to miss out on the candy."

Sweet boy, you have no idea how proud I was in that moment.  You brought me to tears with your kindness and thoughtfulness. You could have easily put all of the candy in your bag, but instead you had your brother in mind.  And it wasn't only that instance.  You did it again and again over the next hour that we watched the parade.  That level of selflessness in an eight year old astounds me.  In that moment I learned that you care for your brother immensely.  You never saw me crying behind my sunglasses that day.  I wouldn't want you to think something was wrong.  But I can't help but think of all the ways you'll be there to help your brother as you both grow older.  Someone who cares for him no matter his age. I can see that in you and I'm grateful he has you.

I don't know if you'll ever read this.  If you don't, that's ok.  You don't need this letter to know how much you are loved and how much your dad and I cherish you.  Every day I catch a glimpse of the man you will become and I couldn't be more proud.  Reach for the stars, my love.

Love Always,
Mom