I was an only child who had everything I wanted, but sometimes I felt lonely. So when Mom told me that I would have a brother, I was excited. I imagined how wonderful you would be and how we would always be together, and how much you would look like me. When you were born, I looked at your small hands and feet and felt very happy —you were so beautiful.

We took you home and I proudly showed you to my friends. They touched you, but you never reacted1. When you were five months old, some things began to bother Mom. You seemed so quiet, and your cry sounded strange. It was almost like a cat’s, so we brought you to the doctor.

The doctor looked at us with pity and softly said, "He will never walk or talk." Mom was shocked and I was angry. I thought it was unfair.

When we went home, Mom took you in her arms and cried. Mom and Dad showered you with love and attention and that made me bitter. As the years passed, that bitterness turned to anger, and then hate.

Mom never gave up on you, and then one day you proved that the doctor was wrong —you crawled2! Then one day Mom saw you pull yourself up and walk!

Laughing and crying, she shouted for Dad and me to come. Dad hugged you, crying openly. I watched this heartbreaking scene from my bedroom window.

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