My son Erik. Born a few weeks too early, but not enough to really matter. Never developed the way other kids do. But developed all the same, but really not the same. Now he’s eleven. And I ask myself what will become of him. He learns slowly. He will never go to college. He will always need someone to take care of him. He tests me. He has helped me develop and grow in ways that I never thought possible. He has taught me patience and endurance. And yes, I believe in him, and in whoever decided to bless me with him.
But his younger sister Ellen. She’s the one with the flying emotions; she tests me in so many other ways. She’s nine and acts like the typical nine year old – skates, doesn’t like doing homework, complains, and (with those hormones starting to kick in) throws all kinds of tantrums. Yet, somehow, she is the pillar of my family. I, the single mother of the son with special needs, and the typical daughter. Our little unit could never function without her. She drives me absolutely crazy, but then she translates her brother’s speech when even I don’t understand. She is not perfect, but she is an old soul. She already knows that life is not fair, she sees it everyday when people shower her brother with attention, ignoring her, — as if to make up for that which he can not do. And constantly mistaking the care that I need to give her bother, for attention and love that she doesn’t receive. But she is wrong, and I know that one day she will see, that without her I could not have endured all of these years. Yes, Erik is a gift and a joy, but Ellen will always be my shining star. And of all the people in the world, she is the person I believe in the most
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