Dear Patrick,
I was then an only child who had everything I could ever want. But evena pretty, spoiled and rich kid could get lonely once in a while so whenMom told me that she was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I imagined how wonderful you would be and how we'd always be together and how much youwould look like me. So, when you were born, I looked at your tiny handsand feet and marveled at how beautiful you were.
We took you home and I showed you proudly to my friends. They wouldtouch you and sometimes pinch you, but you never reacted. When you werefive months old, some things began to bother Mom. You seemed so unmovingand numb, and your cry sounded odd --- almost like a kitten's. So webrought you to many doctors.
The thirteenth doctor who looked at you quietly said you have the "crydu chat" (pronounced Kree-do-sha) syndrome, "cry of the cat" in French.
When I asked what that meant, he looked at me with pity and softly said,"Your brother will never walk nor talk." The doctor told us that it is acondition that afflicts one in 50,000 babies, rendering victims severelyretarded. Mom was shocked and I was furious. I thought it was unfair.
When we went home, Mom took you in her arms and cried. I looked at youand realized that word will get around that you're not normal. So tohold on to my popularity, I did the unthinkable ... I disowned you. Momand Dad didn't know but I steeled myself not to love you as you grew.Mom and Dad showered you love and attention and that made me bitter. Andas the years passed, that bitterness turned to anger, and then hate
Mom never gave up on you. She knew she had to do it for your sake.
Everytime she put your toys down, you'd roll instead of crawl. I watchedher heart break every time she took away your toys and strapped yourtummy with foam so you couldn't roll. You struggle and you're cry inthat pitiful way, the cry of the kitten. But she still didn't give up.
Then she'd leave you there. I would sometimes watch from the windows andsmile at your discomfort. You would crawl to the sidewalk and Mom wouldput you back. Again and again, Mom repeated this on the lawn. Until oneday, Mom saw you pull yourself up and toddle off the grass as fast asyour little legs could carry you.
Laughing and crying, she shouted for Dad and I to come. Dad hugged youcrying openly.
I watched from my bedroom window this heartbreaking scene.
Over the years, Mom taught you to speak, read and write. From then on, Iwould sometime see you walk outside, smell the flowers, marvel at thebirds, or just smile at no one. I began to see the beauty of the worldthrough your eyes. It was then that I realized that you were my brotherand no matter how much I tried to hate you, I couldn't, because I hadgrown to love you.
During the next few days, we again became acquainted with each other. Iwould buy you toys and give you all the love that a sister could evergive to her brother. And you would reward me by smiling and hugging me.
But I guess, you were never really meant for us. On your tenth birthday,you felt severe headaches. The doctor's diagnosis --leukemia. Mom gaspedand Dad held her, while I fought hard to keep my tears from falling. Atthat moment, I loved you all the more. I couldn't even bear to leaveyour side. Then the doctors told us that your only hope is to have abonemarrow transplant. You became the subject of a nationwide donorsearch. When at last we found the right match, you were too sick, andthe doctor reluctantly ruled out the operations. Since then, youunderwent chemotherapy and radiation.
Even at the end, you continued to pursue life. Just a month before youdied, you made me draw up a list of things you wanted to do when you gotout of the hospital. Two days after the list was completed, you askedthe doctors to send you home. There, we ate ice cream and cake, runacross the grass, flew kites, went fishing, took pictures of one anotherand let the balloons fly. I remember the last conversation that we had.You said that if you die, and if I need of help, I could send you a noteto heaven by tying it on the string of any balloon and letting it fly.When you said this, I started crying. Then you hugged me. Then again,for the last time, you got sick.
That last night, you asked for water, a back rub, a cuddle. Finally, youwent into seizure with tears streaming down your face. Later, at thehospital, you struggled to talk but the words wouldn't come. I know whatyou wanted to say. "Hear you," I whispered. And for the last time, Isaid, "I'll always love and I will never forget you. Don't be afraid.You'll soon be with God in heaven." Then, with my tears flowing freely,I watched the bravest boy I had ever known finally stop breathing. Dad,Mom and I cried until I felt as if there were no more tears left.Patrick was finally gone, leaving us behind.
From then on, you were my source of inspiration. You showed me how tolove life and live to the fullest. With your simplicity and honesty, youshowed me a world full of love and caring. And you made me realize thatthe most important thing in this life is to continue loving withoutasking why or how and without setting any limit.
Thank you, my little brother, for all these.
