My boy. (Siblings.)

My boy.
I adore the very ground he walks on.
He is my calm in the storm.
The light in my dark days.
My hug in a fight.

He is 8.
Only 8 years old and he is the person I turn to.

His 10 year old sister has Autism and a list of physical disabilities.
She is needy, demanding and oh so controlling.
She dictates our every step, our every move.
We tiptoe around on eggshells waiting for the meltdown….
…..always waiting, never knowing what is around the corner.

My boy is the most patient, calm and understanding child I have ever met.
He has to be.
His life plan was already made before he was born.
He follows the path that his sister creates.
The path she leads.

He never complains.
Ever.

His life is hard.
Having a sibling with Autism is hard.
Having a sibling with physical disabilities is hard.
Watching your parents spend almost all their time with your sibling is hard.
Being dragged along to endless appointments is hard.
Making plans for weekends and holidays around your siblings needs is hard.
Only going somewhere a wheel chair can access is hard.
Being controlled by your sister is hard.
(Writing this is hard).

The guilt I feel is unexplainable.
Words cannot portray the way it eats me up.

The guilt; it’s everywhere.
When I see my boy sat with headphones on because he can’t bear the noise.
When I see fear in his eyes when his sister is having a meltdown.
When I see the cloud of loneliness above him when I am busy with my girl.
When I see his tears of fustration as another episode of Pokemon is put on tv.
When I see him roll his eyes when he knows my girl is angry.
When I see his face fall sad when I say it would be difficult for his friend to come for tea……..
………it breaks my heart.
It is my fault.

My boy takes it all in his stride.
His sister has always been this way so he knows no different.
He is aware of her difficulties and accepts them.
He doesn’t always like them, but he manages them.

He is, without a doubt, the glue that holds us all together.
His little smile melts me and erases all my worries.
His hugs are calming, comforting.
He is there for us all, always.

He is 8.
I feel as though I am robbing him of his childhood.
I feel guilty, angry, sad….
….but so incredibly proud.

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