The talk

I have dreaded the conversation for years. Since the moment I first knew, I have felt ill just considering it. And yet there was never any choice but to say it out loud. Not just once, but over and over, until every younger sibling understands.

“Phineas is different, sweetie. You know how you can read books and add and subtract and ride a bike with no training wheels? Can Phin do any of that right now?”

“No.”

“But he’s older than you, right?”

“Yesssss.”

“You see it now? He’s got his own speed of learning things. And some things he tries really hard to do, and he still can’t quite get there right now.”

“Like… counting to five?”

“Right. Exactly. Like counting to five. He works hard. But he just forgets, and so we have to help him learn it all over again.”

And it was right then that I saw an almost 8 year-old little brother’s heart break just a little as what he’s always known– “Phin’s my big brother”– finally snapped into a focus that explained the why and how behind the reality of our days. Phin is the big brother. But, at 9 and a half, he is more capable with Duplo than Lego. He has never seen Star Wars. His Bible still has pictures.

And John Mark? He has crossed those hurdles and more. In a few weeks, he’ll be 8. And it seems just right for him, because he’s growing and maturing and learning more every single day.

But his big brother…

“Is Phin going to grow up?”

“Of course he is. It will just look a little differently than your growing up. No one’s growing up is the exact same, anyhow.”

“But he’ll always be my big brother?”

“Oh, yes. Always.”

Relief then. The axis had shifted, but the world was not off balance altogether. Nothing, he realized, had changed. Now he just had an understanding of truth in which to wrap his experiences. While John Mark moved on and found a new distraction, I felt drained, exhausted.

Giving words to the understood dynamics of our family’s special circumstances will always be necessary. But this first foray into chaperoning the heart of a younger sibling through special needs… it was hard. A sadness, a grief– all have to pass through our hearts as we find peace with the marvelous, joyful Phineas we do have instead of mourning the one we do not.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll see more awareness creep into John Mark’s eyes. I expect I’ll field more questions,too– many of them the variety which has no real answers. Eventually, the newness of the knowing will settle, and things will just be, again.

But then, Birdie will wonder aloud. And Simon. And Jude. And I will sit with them and point out that we are all unique, we are all different… and this is what that means in Phin’s life and, consequently, their own.

Maybe it will get easier, saying these things out loud. Maybe by the second or third time, God will have given me the perfect words to sum up what I so desperately want to say:

Phineas is different, yes. But he is also amazing. He loves deeply. He laughs easily. And he brings a disarming joy with him wherever he goes. Don’t focus on the “can’t.” Focus on the “can.” Enjoy him. Each one of your brothers and sisters is a gift. And in that way, Phin is no different at all.