And the Sisters'

Chain

We remember.

The time he cried, “you hurt my feelings,” over and over again until we couldn’t take it anymore.

When the doctor told you just to use your “firm voice” and he would be fine.

The neighbors would say, “He’s just being a boy.”

After all, how would you know the difference when the three of us came first?

Why should you think there was anything unusual about him?

But we remember how hard it was:

The irritability, the sleepless nights, the unhelpful onlookers,

A grief process no one expected following the news.

I remember when you told me to stay away from the little boy around the corner.

He would pace in front of his house waving his arms.

None of us could have known that arm waving would one day be throat clearing to us.

None of us could have known how that boy would be a part our lives forever,

As indirect as the connection may seem.

He lives in your regret and our sympathies.

And that day he stood over me, eyes glazed black.

That boy was not my brother.

Not the brother I know.

Those fits of violence were not unusual,

But we tried to teach him.

I can’t imagine his life if it weren’t for us.

This boy who was so different, would not have been the same.