My brother, Fernando, was born when I was 7 years old. As I remember, my mother suspected that there was something wrong all through her pregnancy, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. To her, something just didn’t feel right.
Her fears were partially confirmed when she had to have an emergency C-section at 7 months gestation. And it didn’t stop there. She continued to observe how this child, her third, would not walk when he was expected, or talk when he was supposed to. My parents did all they could to make sure that they visited the every specialist or doctor that they were recommended by well-meaning people.
At that time, and where we lived, there was no early intervention, or good special programs. My parents had to fend for themselves. My father worked as much as he could, as many hours as it was humanly possible, to supply what the family needed.
I remember very clearly when my parents tried to get speech/language services for my brother. It was just a gamble whether the insurance would pay or not. Most times, my parents ended up paying out of pocket, and barely able to cover one or two sessions a week.
There is a clear picture in my head of my mother, holding my brother, who was a big 2 year old boy at the time, while we were travelling by bus to make it to the therapy center. No one would give up their seat. I guess, in their minds, they could not figure out why a seemingly healthy child would not stand up and hold the bars. What they didn’t know was that my brother had just recently started walking and was quite unsteady on his feet.
I accompanied my mother on many of these trips. It was just impossible for her to carry my brother, who was a quite robust 2 year old, and all the bags she needed for essentials. She tried to schedule appointments when I was available so that I could help. I remember clearly carrying my mother’s bags. And I remember clearly my mother carrying my brother.
To this day, I can clearly see how my mom continues to “carry” my brother, in every aspect of his life. And I, for one, do my best to try to help her with her bags. Love you Mom!