It has to begin somewhere: November 1, 2001

I didn't really start to learn who I was, or who I wanted to be before Javad. There are days that it feels like my life kind of started that strange and terrifying day at Providence Hospital. I'd like to think that my eleven-year-old self had a plan before that, but if I did, I don't remember it. I don't remember much of my life before Javad. I remember being happy and I remember a lot about my mom. I remember having this amazing family and the biggest thing that I was afraid of was the kids teasing me for being fat at school. But here I was, starting the 7th grade, my mom was pregnant with the baby sibling I always wanted. I was thrilled. What wasn't there to be excited about. Before I can truly tell you what life has been like since Javad, it's important that you understand what it was like the moment I met Javad. It's a moment I'll never forget, though there are more days then not that I wish I could.

So here I am, I'm eleven and I'm preparing for the birth of what will be my youngest, and only blood related, sibling. I was overwhelmed with emotions of excitement, fear, and curiosity. My parents promised that I would be the first person to hold the baby, and as I made my way to the hospital I kept playing the scene of holding a newborn over and over again in my head. The time had come. I was sitting in the hallway outside the surgery room (my momma had a C-section), waiting impatiently for my dad to bring out a baby brother or sister. But instead of my dad emerging, a nurse comes rushing out of the room, holding a small, nearly lifeless, baby. She sped passed me, snapping at the nurses near by about things like “oxygen,” “critical condition,” and “the ICU.” So there I am, sitting on the floor, in the hallway, of Providence Hospital, thinking that the baby I had been so impatiently waiting for since I was three, was going to die. Being a minor I was too young for anyone to tell me what was going on. Instead I got to sit and wait for my parents, or grandparents or ANYONE, to tell me if my baby brother was going to live. I walked over to what the nurses had referred to as "the ICU" hoping to sneak a peek at the face of my delicate, sick, potentially dying little brother, but the windows were too high for me to see in. Remembering back it was like the scene from the movies where the kids looks up at the sky scraper and it seems to grow taller, well those windows seemed to get higher and higher the more I looked at them. My Grami was with me, as still I was too young to be alone (though in this moment I felt like I had aged years, even though I still didn't understand). My Grami is the one that noticed the vacuum that was in the corner by the janitors closet. I don't quite remember if she asked or if we just stole it. Regardless, we pulled it over to just below the (growing higher) windows, and standing on top of it, on my tip toes, I was just able to see over the wall and for the very first time peer at this tiny, frail, body, and in that moment, my whole life changed. There was Javad (I knew his name because I knew that was going to be his name had he been a boy), under what looked like a clear bucket, not moving, barely surviving (in my 11 year old mind). No one had told me anything, I was terrified. I was angry. I felt alone. I wanted my mom to be un-sedated from her surgery. I wanted to wake up from what already felt like a nightmare. It was supposed to be one of the most exciting days of my life and instead it was turning into one of the worst. I decided that I didn't ever want anyone else to feel what I was feeling in that moment. I wanted to find a way to ensure that no other child was left alone; knowing nothing, lying in wait to find out if the child I already loved was going to survive.

Though sometimes I wish my day had ended that morning at the hospital, it didn't. Looking back I think it was in a sense of not knowing what to do with me, but my grandparents (or my dad, who knows), took me to school. I'll never forget walking into my second (or third) period class. It was Ms. Smith's class. She was my core teacher, and even a few months into the school year I knew I loved her. She asked me to tell the class about my morning. I was still so excited that I told them about this amazing little boy, but I didn't stop, I told them about the machines and how little he was and all of a sudden I was scared. The TA took me out in the hall and I cried, whether of joy to have life feel normal or fear I don't know if I'll ever know, but I cried. That was the day that I lost 90% of my friends. Everyone says that middle schoolers are cruel, but I don't think anyone understands that better then me. I remember people that I thought were my friends coming up to me in the hall saying that they weren't going to stand by and wait for me to fall apart, and that they didn't want to be around an "emo kid" like me. I don't remember being particularly emotional that day, mostly confused and bewildered and scared, but apparently, to the 12-14 year olds that I went to school with, I was too much to handle. I went to school the day after Javad was born not knowing who was going to stand by me and who had already chosen to walk away.

My life really began when Javad was born. I don't know who I was before, but I know that I wouldn't be who I am today without him. The first day was hard, one of the worst but I am not sure if it was the worst. I am sure there will be harder. There have also been days that were amazing. Those are all stories for another day. Today, I needed to talk about the beginning, cause it all starts somewhere, and mine began in a hospital. 

I am not necessarily writing this so that anyone "understands" or for pity (though I know I will get that). Mostly, it's because my life isn't something a lot of people know about. I have my person, that really gets what it's like to live this life. My person that is there for the calls on Javad's birthday and the midnight calls when he goes into the hospital, the person that is there when I am angry with him and my parents and the fact that this is my life. The person that stands there and understands 110%. I couldn't have survived the last few years without her. That said, this is because there has been a lot I have been through over the years that may help others. Little girls, that like me are scared and don't know how to tell their mom, who is already crying, that in that moment they don't love their brother and that they wish life could go back to "normal". Or the moments when all their friends get to go and do things and you can't because your brother has a dr. appt or there is no nurse or whatever. I'm writing this for them. The siblings that have had to do it alone, cause it's scary, and parents speak a different dialect of the same language. This is for them, whether now or when their older. Cause I did it alone for the first 7 years and it was awful, and if I can help it no one will ever have to again.