Siblings and Heartache

I still remember the day we met Hope rather well, although some of the details are rather fuzzy. I was eleven and a half, a self-righteous, sheltered little girl, cocky in my bright red winter coat and eager to meet my new baby sister. We got to the foster home, piled out of the mini-van (and when my family gets out of a vehicle it really is piling out; they just keep coming and coming and coming), and trooped in to meet our soon-to-be little darling.

She was a long, thin baby, with hardly any hair on top of her little head. We all got to hold her, and I'm sure you can imagine how eager we all were to cuddle the cute little dear. As young children do, we bickered over whose turn it was when, all sure that our desire to hold her was infinite compared to the meager desires of our siblings. When it was finally my turn I went off into my own little world, imagining a life with another little sister (I already had two) as she grew up and matured from this baby into a companion and friend. Few, if any, of my imaginings became reality, but I was content in my temporary bliss.

Eventually it was time for us to leave. Hope was put back into her crib and we all filed past to say our goodbyes to the cherished child. I deliberately put myself last, scheming to sneak in a goodbye kiss (in such a way that not all of my siblings would see and insist on copying). I leaned down to kiss her soft, smooth cheek and in that moment I determined that she would be my baby sister. I knew my siblings well; knew how much they would love the novelty of a new baby, how much they would fight to feed her and play with her, and knew too that after a few weeks (months maybe) the baby-mania would die down and they would be more interested in their own pursuits again. I was determined that I would not be like that, that I would be closer to her than all of them because I would be like a second mother to her, feeding her, changing her, getting up with her during the night, playing with her, watching her, taking care of her even when I would rather be doing something else. I made this vow to myself, and (surprising even to myself) I kept it rather well.

I had been right enough about the baby-mania; for the first few weeks one had to stand in line just to get a chance to give Hope her afternoon bottle. It was nearly impossible to get a turn holding her. But as time went by I remained dedicated to her, sharing a room with her, changing her, bathing her, feeding her, getting up with her, playing with her, watching her, and being there to take care of her as often as possible. I was single-minded in my pursuit of my goal: being the favored one with at least one person. Years passed by and it became more evident that she did indeed favor me (occasionally over her parents, to my embarrassment). I could soothe her much quicker than my siblings; I could tell what she needed almost as quickly as my mother. I was her nanny, and I was thrilled.

And as the years passed and my siblings noticed her distinct preference to me, they began to jealously question why; why did she like me more? Why did she want me when she was hurt or upset? Why did she like to play with me and want me to help her? How come I was the favorite sibling? And I smiled and said, "Because I took care of her when she was little, and she remembers. She remembers that I was the one who changed as many diapers as Mom, who fed her and took care of her when she was sick." This made no sense to them; they looked at me with puzzled faces and continued on in their envy.

And we began to realize there was something wrong. She didn't crawl until she was nearly one, and didn't walk for quite a while later. Most people could not understand her because her verbal skills didn't develop like they were supposed to (her mother and I were the two who could most often interpret her, but there were times when even we were stymied in our attempts to understand her speech). She was not as coordinated as most children her age and had trouble doing basic tasks with her hands sometimes. Most of this was stuff that my parents (having raised four other kids from infancy) noticed and I did not. I was infatuated with my little Hope and thought her the perfect baby.

Her biological brother (whom we also adopted when he was nearly five) displayed some difficulties too, things like struggling to learn and read, struggling to pronounce certain words, and definite social and communication difficulties. It was only when he was diagnosed with autism that we realized perhaps this was what was Hope's problem too.

And it was then that I realized that the little silly dreams I had built up the day I first met Hope would probably never come true. She would not be like other children, especially not like other girls. She was loud and easily frustrated, and at least a couple years behind other children in mental development. But she was my baby sister and I couldn't help but love her just as much no matter what our future as sisters looked like.

Life with Hope got more difficult as she got older. For many her cuteness wore off and they couldn't see much in her beyond the messes, the short temper, the destructive behaviors, and the limitations. But I could not give up; she was still my darling, the one I had wrapped my heart in and around, forever to be her devoted older sister. Some commitments are only temporary and some are eternal; this one was definitely eternal. Even when I got incredibly frustrated with her I still saw my darling "baby girl" (my pet name for her) and still loved her.

My one regret is this; John. Hope's biological older brother, the younger of my two brothers, the black sheep of the family. Oh! how I wish someone in my family had attached to him like I did to Hope. There has been so much heartache, so much distance, so much love lost! He, unfortunately, has many of the same behaviors Hope does (though they are less acceptable in one five years older). He, unfortunately, is not the receiver of as much grace, mercy, and forgiveness as Hope is, at least not from most of us, his siblings. He is left to fend for himself in this big family, and I grieve for him much and often. If I could only go back! Many would have liked to attach to Hope like I did, but John is the one who really needed someone! But, on the other hand, as Hope is a girl it made it easier to spend many more of our waking moments together. Perhaps John really needs an older brother to come alongside of him. Whatever else I can be, that is one of the things I cannot be.

And so I ache and groan with pain and worry for him; I worry that we will lose him, not to death but to separation. I worry that he will run away when his freedom comes in his adult years. I worry that we will lose him now as he pulls farther into his own world inside his head. I want to weep with seeing how much less the acceptance of him is compared to the acceptance and tolerance of Hope (or any of the rest of my siblings). But I know why. I see now the dark path that has brought us here and I cry with regret and remorse some days.

You see, I have another brother, older than John but younger than myself. And he has been deeply wounded, emotionally cut down time and time again. Who would do such a thing to a little boy? That self-righteous, cocky little girl (remember her) and the sisters who both led and followed her. In a sick cycle the put him down again and again until he was alone. How he longed for an older brother, someone to stand up to those self-righteous, exclusivist, intolerant sisters of his just long enough to grant him some acceptance from them. Mostly friendless he wandered alone searching, begging, praying for someone to love him, play with him, like him, want to be with him. And years later his prayers looked like they were going to be answered. He got a little brother.

But something was not perfect. This little brother was not everything he'd dreamed of. This was not a brother who could be on his level, but a scarred little boy who cheated, lied, stole, and left a chaotic, destructive trail behind him. My brother, probably reeling in disappointment and shock, began to take out all of the hateful, vindictive resentment of his childhood on John, pouring out the exclusion, insults, put-downs, and spite that he had experienced as a child on his hurt, broken, and messed-up little brother. His sisters could not comprehend where so much anger and bitterness could be coming from...until they looked back on the past, hindsight lending a clarity that had not been present before. Remorse abounded, but it was a little late to avoid the catastrophic disaster rising like a tidal wave before us. We wished, we pleaded, we prayed, but the storm had already begun, the winds were already lashing us in their intensity, and it was no longer up to us to avoid this collision.

And now I look at the wreckage of many souls, the hearts still falling to pieces and relationships still very broken. I fret over the outcome, though I know my anxiety does nothing to make it better. But I still have Hope, and that is something.

I still have Hope for grace and mercy, healing and forgiveness to sweep my family up in one huge embrace. I still have Hope for redemption and restoration of relationships. I still try to Hope for hearts to be whole again and souls to rest easy one with another in a great big loving family. I still Hope for everything that I thought our family had lost to belong finally to our family; love, acceptance, tolerance, peace, joy, happiness, fun, playfulness, laughter, and all the other beautiful aspects of right relationship. I still long for the day when my Hope proves not vain, but true; the day our family is truly, wholly, completely, magnificently family. God help us make it there.