A while ago, someone asked me how my life would differ if I didn’t have a brother with a disability. Honestly, it would be far less intriguing, engaging, and rewarding. Over the past two decades, my brother Jonah has imparted countless lessons through simply being himself. Here are my top five takeaways:
1. Truth is essential; be prepared for it.
One of Jonah’s most remarkable traits is his genuine innocence and unwavering honesty. He never intends to offend but lacks a social filter. Deceit is beyond his capability, which has often landed him in awkward situations. When someone asks, “Jonah, are you happy to see me?” he might respond with, “Not really.” I chuckle at the thought of a world where everyone spoke their minds with such candor. Still, I always consult him for fashion advice.
2. Invisible struggles are real.
Pain isn’t always visible. Autism is an invisible disability; even if you see Jonah flapping his arms or muttering to himself, it’s unlikely you’ll grasp what he’s experiencing. This reality brings both advantages and challenges. Occasionally, I find myself wishing Jonah had a visible disability, as people tend to be more accommodating and patient when they can see someone needs extra support. People look at Jonah, a tall, striking 20-year-old, and label his behaviors as “strange” or “disrespectful” when they don’t align with their expectations. I’ve learned that you can’t judge someone solely based on appearances; everyone has their own unseen battles to fight.
3. Grief extends beyond loss.
I once shared with a reporter that receiving an autism diagnosis feels akin to losing a best friend. It may sound extreme, but it captures the essence of grief: mourning the life you envisioned for yourself and your family. I’ve experienced all the stages of grief—denial, anger, sadness. It’s crucial to acknowledge these feelings. I still grieve for the life Jonah might have lived, but I’ve learned to process that grief quickly; lingering in sadness doesn’t benefit anyone.
4. Miracles are possible.
I know it sounds cliché, but I urge parents of children with disabilities to hold onto this belief. While it’s important to have realistic expectations, it’s equally important not to impose limitations. A nonverbal diagnosis doesn’t dictate a person’s future. The Jonah of today is a different person from the Jonah of ten years ago, or even six months ago. The once nonverbal Jonah now talks and even sings (and he’s got a better voice than me).
5. You can’t control everything, but you can control your reactions.
I thrive on organization and planning; I create numerous to-do lists each week. However, caring for someone with a disability often means relinquishing that control. You can’t predict what milestones your loved one will achieve, no matter how much effort you invest. Sometimes, your plans will be disrupted by unexpected meltdowns triggered by something as trivial as “uncomfortable pants.” Rather than wasting energy on the uncontrollable, focus on how you respond. It’s a significant mental drain to dwell on what you can’t change. You don’t have to be perpetually optimistic, but optimism certainly makes life brighter.
6. A simple greeting can go a long way.
This one’s pretty straightforward but worth mentioning.
In conclusion, my brother Jonah has taught me invaluable lessons about honesty, empathy, grief, hope, and resilience. His life has shaped my perspective in profound ways, showing me the beauty in every moment, regardless of the challenges we face. For those interested in learning more about home insemination, consider checking out this resource or this one for fertility preservation knowledge. For additional insights into pregnancy and home insemination, this blog is an excellent resource.