Untitled

I have a younger brother, affectionately known as Tim. We are ten years apart and are very involved in each other’s lives.

When my mother told me I was going to have a baby brother I was ecstatic, I was so excited and eager to be a big sister. I fervently waited to meet Timothy, and I intrinsically knew that I wanted to play a big role in my brother’s life.

During my mother’s pregnancy, I talked a lot about being a big sister. I was thrilled to know that within just a few months I’d be able to love Tim, teach Tim, protect Tim, and inspire Tim; to my surprise though I was quick to learn that Tim came into this world not for me to take care of him, but for him to take care of me—to ground me, to teach me, and to show me what love really is.

Timothy (or as I’m often reminded—Tim) has shown me the strength it takes to overcome adversity, and has inspired me to go after more, to constantly learn, to never be content, and to just strive to be better—to be “whole.”

Tim was born with Down syndrome—and he is quite possibly the grooviest, boldest, and sassiest young man with the best head of red hair in the world.

Tim has a zest for life that is undeniably special and has an incredible amount of empathy and love for others. He doesn’t see race, socioeconomic status, or judge anyone based on how they look—to be honest sometimes that worries and concerns me, but for the most part when I observe an interaction or even witness just a glance and smile between Tim and a stranger whose day is brightened, it makes me feel proud and so happy to have Tim in my life.

Now being 28, and Tim being 18, and with realities of getting older more eminent, I have been thinking and working towards creating a Will and a Special Needs Trust.

I want to ensure my brother’s success and establish a secure future for him—while investigating the how-to’s, I was told I was “admirable,” and that upset me.

I am not admirable; I am a responsible, anxiety-ridden nervous Nellie who wants to protect my family. This word, admirable, has been haunting my thoughts for weeks.

I know it was marked in good faith, but I want people to know thinking about the future is realistic and because of Tim’s profound influence on my life and the amount of love I have for him in my heart does not make me praiseworthy, but just a good sister or heck, a smart planner.

So call this an open letter, or call it a ramble, but just know that individuals with disabilities, and their family members don’t want to be pitied, or felt bad for, or praised or thanked for doing what any good person should do—which is to be there for a loved one.