Big Brothers

Once upon a time I was a little girl with two big brothers. In many ways they were ordinary brothers, like the older brothers most little girls have, and in other ways they were different. My oldest brother, Dan, had been adopted. He had dark hair and dark eyes and his becoming part of the family was a lifelong celebration. Tim's entry, 5 1/2 years prior to my arrival, was in some ways natural and in others very traumatic.
Tim was born in place in time where the arrival of babies was often scheduled for the doctor's convenience. Some births were hurried and others stalled. This fight against nature took its toll on both mothers and babies leaving many wounded in its wake. Tim was one of these children.
Damaged at birth by an induced labor, his life has been far from ordinary. Autistic before it became a diagnosis, he struggled to fit in while Mom and Dad struggled to understand and deal with their precious son. Eventually, they came to the realization that they couldn't care for him alone and resigned themselves to putting him in the care of the state.
At one time his residence was an institution, now it is a group home staffed by a familiar group of people who do their best to love and care for its residents. Ironically, the little cobblestone house where he lives sits in the shadow of his former institutional residence.
Today was the annual Christmas party at Tim's house. Although Mom and Dad visit him almost weekly, my sisters and I usually see him only at Christmas time.
How does one break the tension and bring a warm feeling into the air when she sees her brother but once a year? I picked up a bowl of salad in the kitchen and sat down next to Tim. I gave him a playful poke or two with my fork and told him that's what little sisters were for, to pick on older siblings. I decided to take our picture. He was enjoying a slice of pizza but humored me by looking into the camera anyway. During the visit we talked and laughed while he sat quietly listening and occasionally asking for another cup of soda pop. Dad played his banjo and harmonica while Mom and Aunt Margie sang Christmas carols. Several times I saw a smile creep onto Tim's lips and a contented look come over his face. It was a short visit but I think he enjoyed it immensely. I know I did.