happy being trevy

There was a brotherly row in our home this morning over what brotherly rows are generally about. Which is to say: nothing.  Big brother left for the day with devices, books, and notes for a college admissions meeting he has later in the day.  Little brother, unbeknownst to mom, took it upon himself to restore the peace.  People often speak of miracles in relationship to Trevor. Mostly, they have ideas of fireworks and full healing seizure freedom. Meanwhile, these are the miracles that leave me a puddle on the floor. 

The line is indistinct; I'm not even sure when or if I stepped over it. Somewhere along the way, I stopped mourning his developmental losses so deeply. Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to force him to breach the gap between his peers. Somewhere along the way, I have grown to see the beauty in his childlike spirit. I watched him run about the yard with a friend yesterday. He still runs like a toddler, you know. His big boy body lumbering about with the motor planning and ease of a small child; there is a deep, unspeakable beauty in the way he runs. Watching a young child bounding joyfully about is lovelier than words. It's magical. That same magic still glows about and radiates from him. There is a little place in a mother's heart that does not want her children to grow up and fly away. Trevor won't. He is my baby in the truest sense. That thought used to wrench my soul, and certainly, there is a sadness woven there, but there is beauty too...