Brutal truth

I hung out with a  normal 7-year old boy today.

He didn’t make weird sounds, go off on random tangents about Greek mythology, make obscure references, gnaw on his lower lip, or wander aimlessly. He was just perfectly…normal. And I was so jealous.

We played catch for a long time. He didn’t stomp away in frustration if he missed the ball. He didn’t get angry when I accidentally lobbed it over his head. He didn’t cry in horror when an errant kick of the ball smashed a porcelain snowman (we were at a garage sale). Instead, he looked at me, eyes wide, and we both burst into giggles. And again, I was so very jealous.

“Hey, Kellie! Wanna play more catch?” He was excited. Happy, giggly, coordinated…perfectly normal. And I was so very, very jealous.

I haven’t had a moment of carefree fun with JP since he was a toddler. It’s not something I realize very often (how terribly not normal he is), but when I do, my god, it’s devastating. I realize that there’s so much he’s missed, so much I’ve missed, so much our family has missed.

I wish JP were normal.

I want JP to be normal.

But he’s not.

And that sucks.

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3 thoughts on “Brutal truth

  1. I can’t imagine. What I do know, is that I watch my brother, my twin. And I want him to be normal. He isn’t ‘our’ normal. But he is my twin, my brother, and he is who he is. And I love him. I get jealous of the sibling relationships other people get to have. I won’t have that. My girls will never have cousins, I will never get be an aunt for his kids. I love him so much. And I get so irritated with him. But as much as I want to, I can’t change him. I gotta roll with him, his inability to read my emotions, his fixation with skyrides, weather, trains and other things. He smiles about those things. I love his real, true smile. Even if it is about an object. Hhhhmmmm. Guess I was moved by your post enough to vomit a part of my life. Hugs to you. I can’t imagine the struggles as a parent, I only know the sibling side.

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