Unsung Hero

I’ve been thinking about my younger son a lot lately. Harry will be 16 years old soon. He’s been spending this weekend with a close friend, so I haven’t gotten to see him much. When he was younger, I craved that kind of break, a break from the demands on my time, from his literally saying “mom” 10 times in less than a minute, his endless questions, short attention span and constant movement; the nightly bedtime routine of story-time, when I’d regale him with tales of adventures to under-water cities, trips to the pyramids in Egypt and meeting the Easter Bunny.

Now he’s so busy with school, homework and sports, spending time with his friends, on the PlayStation or playing his guitar, that dinner time is really the only time that I get to connect with him anymore.

When he was younger, he used to get upset or cry in frustration with the amount of time I had to spend with Jack. He would say it was all about Jack. Our entire life – our schedule, what we did, what we ate, the vacations we took – was because Jack had been born the way he was.

Harry wasn’t much wrong in this. When I add it up, over the years I’ve literally missed months of his life due to all the time I’ve spent in the hospital with Jack or traveling to the mainland for all his appointments; the time I’ve spent supporting Jack’s developmental needs, occupational therapy, physiotherapy, speech and language therapy, music therapy. Even listing all of this takes away from the point of this article; this is about Harry, not about Jack. It’s too easy to fall into this habit of allowing Jack’s story to become all encompassing.

When Harry was young, he didn’t fully understand what was happening to his older brother, but as he got older, he began to see that Jack was not only ‘different’, but also very medically fragile. He began to understand how easily Jack could get sick, and there were so many moments he’d demonstrate maturity well beyond his years, adjusting his behavior, being flexible, not creating a fuss, to accommodate the fact that his brother was sick, again.

I didn’t clue into the fact that Harry would worry and be frightened for Jack. He would act so cool and calm that I thought he was okay. And then he started asking questions, digging for the details of why Jack was in the hospital, what tests did Jack have to get done and why, who was going to stay in the hospital with Jack and on which day, when was Jack coming home, who would take care of him (Harry). I realized he had begun to understand that what Jack was going through was not ‘typical’. None of his other friend’s siblings were going through anything like what Jack was.

Because of this, I can’t help but think that Harry sees how completely opposite his life is to his brother’s. I can’t help but wonder if he’s felt alone or isolated because of it.

I miss spending time with Harry. I grieve for the lost time, those moments of watching him be silly, complaining about homework, telling me stories about the antics he and his friends got up to. I’ll never get that time back again. I’ll never be able to catch up on those bad days that had come and gone because I’d been in the hospital with Jack. The opportunity to love and nurture him, to support him, had been taken away from the both of us.

And yet he acts like he’s accepted this is what his life is, and he goes on like what I think a typical 15-year-old boy would; he gets annoyed with his brother on occasion, complains when I ask him to help with the dishes and laundry. He tries hard at school and talks about joining the Navy when he graduates.  He gets excited about the thought of traveling to see his family this summer or hanging out with his friends.

I’m astonished by what I perceive is his ability to adapt. Have I taught him the skills he needs to cope or was he born with this characteristic? Regardless, I am grateful for him and for who he is, my unsung hero.