I’m used to the way this universe works. I’ve never minded it because it’s all I’ve ever known.
I’ve always understood that August is special and has special needs.
If I was playing too loudly and he was trying to take a nap,
I knew I would have to play something else because he needed his rest after some procedure or other had left him weak and in pain.
If I wanted Mom and Dad to watch me play soccer, I knew that nine out of ten times they’d miss it
because they were busy shuttling August to speech therapy or physical therapy or a new specialist or a surgery.
Mom and Dad would always say I was the most understanding little girl in the world.
I don’t know about that, just that I understood there was no point in complaining.
I’ve seen August after his surgeries: his little face bandaged up and swollen, his tiny body full of IVs and tubes to keep him alive.
After you’ve seen someone else going through that, it feels kind of crazy to complain
over not getting the toy you had asked for, or your mom missing a school play.
I knew this even when I was six years old. No one ever told it to me. I just knew it.
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