You were nine months old when you came into our lives, doe-eyed and cooing. The five years between us meant that I accepted your addition to our family as if you were my very own. It took us a while to find you. My parents in their eager search delved through the brochures, the interviews and assessments, the continuous churning of paperwork. But, oh, was it worth it.

You lived many miles from our country home, unaware that you were to join us as we formed our four-person family. Distance was never going to be a concern, however, and the trepidation as we pulled up outside your foster parents’ house was too much for my childish state. Girlish and giddy, I leapt from the car and was met by your infantile amusement as I paraded around before your window, attempting to make you laugh from the outset. You were always meant to be.

Bringing you home was a joyous occasion. Family from far and wide congregated as if you were indeed our very own. Guests flocked around our little home and I was the proudest big sister in the world. I finally had a little brother and a best friend all to myself.

You, little one, are an entity more special than you will ever know, and for that I love you so dearly

It must have been when you were about two that we noticed something wasn’t quite right. I was a precocious child, you see. Therefore, when your development was a little behind and your speech not yet formed, it was shrugged off. In time, the advice of the doctors became the diagnosis of the consultants and you, my ray of sunshine, were labelled as autistic.

Your autism is not your defining characteristic, however, so please don’t ever feel that way. I know you will never be able to comprehend why you can’t communicate the way you want to sometimes. Why the other children at the park laugh and snigger when you attempt to join in their games (a swift talking to from me usually does the trick). You will continue to get angry at the fact that you know something is not as it should; you will cry with frustration and lash out in discontent. But you, little one, are an entity more special than you will ever know, and for that I love you so dearly.

Now, as you are on the brink of becoming a young man, you are excelling socially and in school. You attend a specialist centre, a haven for us and others like us, dealing with the blows of mainstream exclusions and a lack of understanding within the education system. Your interests and passions have grown with your experience – be it music or dinosaurs, sports or engineering. You put your all into everything you do and resist giving up even when the odds are against you. This is something I have learned to do from you.

I think of you daily. Whether I am commuting in the morning or socialising at night, you are always in my thoughts. Choosing a university so far away was a difficult decision to make because you would never quite understand why my absence grew longer and longer. Technology helps in many ways. You comfort me when I cry down the phone in your own special, superficial way and you laugh at me in faux-sibling shame when I say silly things.

I know Mum and Dad don’t speak any more and you have taken that in your stride. You have friends of your own now, and for that I am filled with happiness. You deserve the world and the stars. I really hope you know that.

Anonymous

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