Dear Little One,
Happy 4th birthday, Eli! It’s hard to believe how quickly you’ve grown. Watching you run, jump, and play with your friends fills my heart with joy and makes it hard to hold back tears. I want you to know just how incredible you are, and how proud I am to be your mother.
There are some things I wish to share, even if you won’t fully grasp them now. One day, when I’m older and my hair has turned gray, I hope you’ll read this letter.
Gratitude for You
First and foremost, I am beyond grateful that you are my son and Cooper’s brother. Your presence has brought me a happiness I never imagined possible.
Here’s a secret that no one else knows: when I discovered I was pregnant with you, I cried. I mean real, ugly crying. Fear overwhelmed me like never before. Cooper was just two, and I felt like I was failing him as a mother. I couldn’t fix everything for him. I was lost in a whirlwind of appointments and therapies, constantly feeling inadequate.
The thought of autism loomed over me, the severe, nonverbal kind that no one spoke about. Each day was filled with dread as I sensed my perfect life slipping away.
Then one Saturday morning, after a sleepless night with Cooper, I took a test, and it was undeniable: I was going to have you. I was terrified, having not slept properly for two years. My life was entirely focused on your brother, as it still often is. I remember nursing you in waiting rooms while we sought help for Cooper.
Those nine months before your arrival were spent awake at night, searching online for “odds of having two kids with autism.” My fear consumed me.
Your Arrival
But then, in January, you arrived, and my world shifted. You were perfect—sleeping well, eating, laughing, and content.
Here’s another secret: you saved me. Not many children can claim that. By the time you came into my life, everything was about autism and my relentless pursuit to help Cooper. I was so exhausted that I had lost sight of joyful motherhood. You reminded me to embrace life with my children.
Whenever autism weighed heavily on my heart, you were there—laughing, learning to crawl, walk, jump, and talk. You effortlessly entered Cooper’s world in ways I could not. You brought me the milestones that every mother cherishes.
The Heartbreak of Comparison
However, I must also admit that watching you thrive while your brother struggles has been heartbreaking. There are moments when I miss Cooper so deeply that it aches. Sometimes, we unintentionally downplayed your achievements, like when you learned to use a straw or point to your nose because we were so aware of Cooper’s challenges.
I apologize for the burden you bear by being born into this family. Having a brother with severe special needs can be frustrating. There are days when your only interaction with him is a kick to the face. Autism is a mystery to you, and I see your confusion. There are small moments of joy, like when Cooper squeals in delight at your presence, but they are few and far between.
You are incredibly social, often coming to me for interaction since Cooper is often unresponsive. Part of me wishes you were unaware of the term “autism,” yet another part is grateful you understand adversity and difference—it’s a lesson your brother has imparted on us.
Reflections on Motherhood
I sometimes feel I’ve missed so much of your life. Just last month, during your well-child visit, I forgot the year you were born. When asked, I blanked out, looked at you, burst into tears, and realized I couldn’t recall the very year you entered my life.
I think back on the times I silenced your joyful chatter and questions because I was overwhelmed by Cooper’s needs. What kind of mother does that? But you will understand; you have to be quiet when your brother won’t.
One day, during a social worker’s visit, you held my face in your little hands and asked, “Can we talk about Cooper for a bit, Mama?” I’ll always remember that sweet moment, but we never had the chance to talk afterward because Cooper needed me.
Thank You, Eli
I want to thank you, my dear Eli. Life can be tough, and it’s often overwhelming. You deserve a mother who isn’t exhausted and emotionally drained by autism. Some days, I worry that I spoil you because you see all the things your brother can’t do, and I give in too easily to your requests.
I often find myself saying, “…because he’s autistic,” which is not fair to you. I know there have been times when I’ve had to make you walk because I was carrying Cooper, and those moments haunt me.
As I look at you, I can’t help but wonder about the future. Will you care for Cooper when I’m no longer here? Will you love him as I do? Those thoughts are heavy on my heart, but I want you to live your life fully—go to college, get married, and have children of your own. Yet, I also need you to promise me to love and protect your brother.
We will talk about all this one day, but today, as you celebrate turning 4, let’s focus on you. Autism is not our priority today.
I want to teach you about kindness, love, and patience. I want you to understand that disabilities aren’t scary. Fight for what’s right, and fight for your brother. Above all, I want you to be happy and to embrace the joy Cooper brings into our lives.
You are brothers in every sense of the word, and I hope you will share a bond that lasts a lifetime.
With all my love,
Mom
Additional Resources
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Summary
This heartfelt letter from a mother to her youngest child, who is a sibling of a special needs child, expresses gratitude, fear, and love. It addresses the challenges and joys of their family dynamic, emphasizing the importance of understanding, kindness, and acceptance. The mother reflects on her fears, the milestones her younger son has achieved, and her hopes for their relationship moving forward, all while acknowledging the unique difficulties of growing up with a sibling who has severe special needs.