Playing Second Fiddle: a Younger Sibling's Story
By the time everything really unfolded with Marshall, I was pregnant with Joey. While I knew that Marshall had some delays, no one knew for certain whether his challenges would melt into a season we looked back on, or if we were in it for the long haul. Life pre-diagnosis was grey and fuzzy, full of maybes-- and maybe nots.
There’s so much beauty in the timing of our story. While I don’t think Marshall’s diagnosis would have changed our decision to have more kids, it sure took the guesswork out of things that Joey had already arrived when we received the news.
The season leading up to and directly following Joey’s birth was filled to the brim with planning, phone calls, appointments and errands—very little of which had anything to do with Joey. Our lives swirled with countless tasks all centered on one thing: getting to the root of Marshall’s issues and getting him the best help possible.
While this may sound stressful or painful or hard, my rose-colored lenses don’t remember it that way. I just remember being busy. And you know what? Busy isn’t all bad. I really thrive when I have purpose. I often tell people it’s not that I work well under pressure: it’s that I only work under pressure. And let me tell you, a maternity leave packed to the brim with doctor’s appointments, phone calls, school visits, blood draws and IEP meetings was oddly wonderful for my postpartum life. Sure, having a newborn is a lot, but Joey’s first few months of life passed pretty quickly in the midst of the constant hum of caring for Marshall.
When September 6 finally came and Marshall was diagnosed with autism, I held my teeny tiny Joey in the teeny tiny room and took a deep breath. A wave of relief washed over me as the next step of the task was completed. And then, it occurred to me. Joey will never know a life without this chaos.
Joey will never know a world without therapy appointments or visual schedules, sensory breaks or carefully planned outings.
He’ll never know a home without noises or flapping or repetitive speech.
He’ll never know a life without autism.
As I stood and rocked and bounced that 4-week-old baby, I was less overwhelmed by the diagnosis handed down (I already knew) and more concerned with what life might be like for my Joey. Was he also autistic? How could I possibly give him the love and attention he deserved from me when I was so consumed with his brother? Was there something I did wrong in raising Marshall? Could I avoid whatever mistakes I may have made to give Joey a better chance?
Raising two children—one with special needs and one without—is quite the picture of unfairness. On the one hand, my child with special needs cannot help who he is. He can’t help that he needs support. He didn’t wake up one morning and decide not to meet milestones, or to struggle to complete normal tasks. It’s not Marshall’s fault that he needs what he needs, or that our lives need to bend to his. It’s also not Joey’s fault that he was born into this scenario; one where life has already been boxed in quite a bit through no fault of his own—and no choice of his parents. Sure, many younger siblings’ lives are shaped by their older counterparts. The predominant difference here, like many other things, is a narrowing of choices. It’s not an option to not meet Marshall’s needs. If we neglect therapy schedules or interventions for Marshall to benefit Joey, what good does that do anyone in the long run? And yet being Marshall’s mom to the best of my ability has made it difficult to be the best mom I can be for Joey. That’s the honest truth.
Take last year, for example. I took a yearlong leave of absence from my teaching job to focus on some of Marshall’s most pressing needs in his final year before kindergarten. It was my goal to do everything I could with the time we’d been given. Marshall had back-to-back therapy on Monday mornings. He had school 4 afternoons a week. We enrolled him in dance class with his peers on Monday nights, piano lessons on Tuesday mornings, aquatic therapy on Friday afternoons, and a basketball clinic on Friday evenings. Our schedule revolved around Marshall, plain and simple. And while I’d love to tell you that I spent an equal amount of time planning thoughtful Joey-centered activities, I didn’t. Joey’s entire life has truly been lived in the background of the main event: Marshall and his autism.
It hit me again one afternoon last year, as I watched my sweet little two year old, sprawled out on his belly and playing away while Marshall had aquatic therapy. I realized how much of my year at home had been spent this way—the two of us as spectators, chauffeurs, tag-a-longs. For a split second, my heart ached for what Joey might experience if Marshall wasn’t his brother.
One split second.
And then it all melted away. Yes, there may be things that Joey has unknowingly sacrificed or missed out on, but there are so many other things he has gained.
Joey is kind.
Joey is patient.
Joey is flexible.
Joey loves the little things—trips to the store, the tiniest surprise, hand me down clothes, watching the birds or the trucks or the people passing by. He loves to talk to anyone who will engage with him.
Joey is happy.
For every negative on the list of things that define Joey’s world, there’s a positive to match.
Yes, Joey was born into a world that revolves around autism.
But he was also born into a world of endless music.
A world with a big brother who loves him fiercely, in a way I never thought possible.
A world that rejoices with every milestone he passes with ease.
Joey is one of life’s greatest gifts to everyone around him. His joy is contagious, his people skills are outrageous, and he is so very kind hearted. I know that the Lord created him that way. But I also know that in His kindness he’s used the difficulties our family has faced to help shape our sweet Joey—and multiply our joy in raising him.
Life will always be a little off balance in the Cribbs household. Who the scales favor depends on your perspective.