Fw: Something Inspirational

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Try this piece,  anyone no matter how cold blooded or unemotional, will be 
moved by the end of it.  It's actually something to reflect on ourselves,
or our 
attitude towards life -- that's what I find!  So happy reading......
or should I say reflective reading?  Cry if you want to......
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Dear Patrick,
 
I was then an only child who had everything I could ever want.  But even a 
pretty, spoiled and rich kid could get lonely once in a  while so when Mom
told 
me that she was pregnant, I was ecstatic.  I imagined how wonderful you
would 
be and how we'd always be together and how much you would look like me. 
So, when you were born, I looked at your tiny hands and feet and marveled
at
how beautiful you were.  We took you home and I showed you proudly to my
friends.  
They would touch you and sometimes pinch you, but you never reacted. 
When you were five months old, some things began to bother Mom.  You seemed
so
unmoving  and numb, and your cry sounded odd -- almost like a kitten's.
 
So we brought you to many doctors.  The thirteenth doctor who looked at you

quietly said you have the "cry du chat" (pronounced kree-do-sha) syndrome,
'cry 
of the cat' in French.  When I asked what that meant, he looked at me with
pity 
and softly said, "Your brother will never walk nor talk."

The doctor told us that it is a condition that afflicts one in 50,000
babies, 
rendering victims severely retarded.  Mom was shocked and I was furious. 
I thought it was unfair.  When we went home, Mom took you in her arms and
cried.  
I looked at you and realized that word will get around that you're not
normal.  
So to hold on to my popularity, I did the unthinkable ... I disowned you.
Mom and Dad didn't know but I steeled myself not to love you as you grew.
Mom and Dad showered you with love and attention and that made me bitter.
And as the years passed, that bitterness turned to anger, and then hate. 
Mom
never gave up on you.  She knew she had to do it for your sake.  Every time
she
put your toys down, you'd roll instead of crawl. I watched her heart break
every 
time she took away your toys and strapped your tummy with foam so you
couldn't roll.  You'd struggle and you'd cry in that pitiful way, the cry
of the
kitten. 
But she still didn't give up.  And  then one day, you defied what all your 
doctors said -- you crawled.  When Mom saw this, she knew that you would 
eventually walk.  So when you were still crawling at age four , she'd put
you 
on the grass with only your diapers on knowing that you hate the feel of
the grass your skin.  Then she'd leave you there.  I would sometimes watch
from the window and smile at your discomfort.  You would crawl to the
sidewalk and
Mom  would put you back.  Again and again, Mom repeated this on the lawn. 

Until one day, Mom saw you pull yourself up and toddle off the grass as
fast as 
your little legs could carry you.  Laughing and  crying, she  shouted for
Dad 
and I to come.  Dad hugged you crying openly. I watched from my bedroom
window this heartbreaking scene.  Over the years, Mom taught you to speak,
read
and write.  From then on, I would sometimes see you walk outside, smell the

flowers, marvel at the birds, or just smile at no one.  I began to see the 
beauty of the world around me, the simplicity of life and the wonders of
this 
world, through your eyes.  It was then that I realized that you were my
brother 
and no matter how much I tried to hate you, I couldn't, because I had grown
to 
love you.

During the next few days, we again became acquainted with each other.  I
would 
buy you toys and give you all the love that a sister could ever give to her
brother.  And you would reward me by smiling and hugging me.

But I guess, you were never really meant for us.  On your tenth birthday,
you 
felt severe headaches.  The doctor's diagnosis -- leukemia.  Mom  gasped
and Dad held her, while I fought hard to keep my tears from falling.  At
that moment, I loved you all the more.  I couldn't even bear to leave your
side.  Then the doctors told us that your only hope was to have a
bonemarrow transplant.  You became the subject of a nationwide donor
search.  

When at last we found the right match, you were too sick, and the doctor 
reluctantly ruled out the operations.  Since then, you underwent
chemotherapy 
and radiation.

Even at the end, you continued to pursue life.  Just a month  before you
died, 
you made me draw up a list of things you wanted to do  when you got out of
the 
hospital.  Two days after the list was completed, you asked the doctors to
send 
you home. There, we ate ice cream and cake, run across the grass, flew
kites, 
went fishing, took  pictures of one another and let the balloons fly.

I remember the last conversation that we had.  You said that if  you die,
and 
if I need of help, I could send you a note to heaven by  tying it on the
string 
any a balloon and letting it fly.  When you said this,  I started crying.
Then you hugged me.  Then again, for the last time,  you  got sick.

That last night, you asked for water, a back rub, a cuddle. Finally,  you
went into seizure with tears streaming down your face.  Later, at the
hospital, you struggled to talk but the words wouldn't come.  I know what
you 
wanted to say.  
I hear you," I whispered.  And for the last time, I said, "I'll always love
you and I will never forget you.  Don't be afraid.  You'll soon be with God
in heaven."
Then, with my tears flowing freely, I watched the bravest boy I had ever
known 
finally stop breathing.  Dad, Mom and I cried until I felt as if there were
no 
more tears left.  Patrick was finally gone, leaving us behind.

>From then on, you were my source of inspiration. You showed me how to
love life and live life to the fullest.  With your simplicity and honesty,
you
showed me a world full of love and caring.  And you made me realize that
the most 
important thing in this life is to continue loving without asking why or
how and 
without setting any limit.  Thank you, my little brother, for all these. 

Your sister,
SARAH