“I’m sad because my legs don’t work so well. I can’t run fast like Mia. My legs just don’t work,” Owen said, his voice small and heavy.
In that moment, the air thickened around us, and my heart began to race, each beat echoing louder in my ears. I felt the weight of silence pressing down, the kind that follows a heart-wrenching revelation. Someone needed to reassure him, to tell him that he is perfect just as he is, that we’re in this together no matter how tough it might get.
Why isn’t anyone saying anything? I’m struggling to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill out after hearing those words tumble from his sweet, vulnerable lips.
But it’s just me, Owen, and Mia in the car. I’m the one who should comfort him, but what on Earth do I say? That it will all be okay? That it’s unfair? That I’m sorry?
I thought we had more time.
I imagined this moment would come later—when he was older, more aware. At four years old, Owen had just discovered that he was a boy. He can remember my name, “Samantha,” but still struggles to recall his dad’s name. He thinks the place he pees from is called his “pee-pee” and the place he poops from is his “tushie.” I thought we had more time before he had to confront the challenges of having Cerebral Palsy.
We often told ourselves that at least he didn’t realize he was different, that he was blissfully unaware of the struggles he faced—like needing eight hours of therapy each week. But now, he knows. I realized this during our drive to school when Owen commented that Mia didn’t look so good. I peered at her through the mirror, expecting a sickly shade, but she was just fine. I assumed Owen was upset because he couldn’t wear his favorite watch today. Seizing the opportunity, I suggested Mia ask him what was bothering him.
“Mia, what’s wrong?” she sweetly inquired.
“I’m sad,” he replied.
“Why are you sad?” she pressed on.
“I’m sad because my legs don’t work so good. I can’t run fast like Mia. My legs no work,” he said.
I felt my breath catch in my throat.
But then, Mia stepped in. This five-year-old, who has her own challenges with arthritis and sensory issues, gave him the most incredible pep talk. “No, Owen, you’re going to be really fast one day! You can wear my sneakers—they’re pink but they light up, and that makes people really fast! You should ask Daddy to help you with your running skills. I bet you’ll even beat me one day!”
Her words overflowed with generosity. She, who treasures her speed, freely shared it with her brother.
I thought she had more time too—time before she had to be the one to lift him up, to stand up for him, to explain things. Mia isn’t even in Kindergarten yet, but somehow she knew he needed this encouragement.
When I dropped Owen off at school, I told his therapist he seemed a little down. He kissed me goodbye, his clear blue-green eyes lacking their usual sparkle. He was starting to understand things that no child should have to face.
It’s the realization that changes everything, the moment you can’t un-know. I ached for him, for his tender heart that now carries this burden.
After dropping Mia off, I turned to her at the first stoplight and expressed how proud I was. She had shown such kindness and love towards her brother.
I called Jake, my partner, as I left the school, sharing what had just occurred. That’s when the tears came—tears that had been waiting to be released. I wondered how we would navigate these conversations in the future, how to help Owen understand.
I’ve cried on and off all morning, reflecting on that conversation and the many more to come. I still don’t know what to say to him. Some things a hug and a kiss can’t fix. I want to tell him I’m sorry for the challenges he faces, that he didn’t deserve this, and secretly wish I could take his place. But I also want him to know that I wouldn’t trade him for anything. He’s made me proud every single day for four long years.
But now, he knows.
I thought we had more time.
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Summary:
A heartfelt narrative about a mother grappling with her son Owen’s struggles with Cerebral Palsy. As Owen begins to understand his condition, his sister Mia steps up with unexpected compassion, showcasing the strength of family bonds. The author reflects on the challenges ahead and the lessons of love and resilience that come with parenting.