My brother Mark was born on September 4, 1988. My mother did not hold him in her arms immediately after he came into this world. He was immediately rushed to Primary Children’s hospital. There was a hole in his lower-spine that was unknown until his arrival. The doctors told my mother that during his first surgery, only minutes after his birth and to the amazement of everyone, he crawled as he struggled to get away from the operating table. This was only the beginning of the strength that he would exhibit throughout his life.
Mark was born with Spina bifida, and his feet were turned inward, so much so that they almost faced backward. This came as a tremendous shock to my young, healthy mother. My mother spent a lot of time away from home during my childhood, as I was only a year older than my brother, and could not go with her to the hospital. He underwent over 11 surgeries before he was released from the hospital and able to come home. I don’t remember much about that time only that my brother was adorable and strong. He had big chocolate brown eyes and olive skin; his smile could light up the world. While my mother sat in a large room at a physical therapy institution, she was told that my brother would never be able to walk. The nurse barely had time to finish her sentence when my brother climbed over to a small toy shopping cart and placed his hands on the small plastic, yellow handle. He gripped the shopping cart with both hands and hoisted himself into a standing position. He began walking around on the sides of his turned-in feet. The nurse’s jaw immediately dropped, and she told my mother in disbelief “well, I guess I was wrong!”
As Mark grew older, his curled feet made it impossible for him to get around. The first option was to use braces to correct them, but after time they continued to get in the way. The doctor asked my mother if they could perform a surgery to take the foot off completely, and to give Mark braces that were modeled with rubber feet. This would give him the opportunity to walk regularly without pain. My mother made the impossible decision to allow the doctors to perform surgery once again. His feet were amputated, and he was fitted with new braces with feet included. He was able to walk, but it was still seriously difficult. Although Mark endured terrible pain and hardship as an infant, toddler, and child, he was always smiling as if nothing ever happened to him at all. He continuously strived to accomplish small tasks that were difficult for him. He would never give up until he mastered something he previously could not complete. This seemed to be ingrained into his personality and spirit; he was not a quitter, and would continually fight until he conquered all odds. As a child myself, I was not aware that anything was different for my brother. He was smart, happy, exultant, and charming. I saw him as a friend, sometimes a rival, and most importantly as a little brother. He was my playmate, and I never understood the diverse challenges he faced until he started elementary school. When he started school, I finally realized how other people viewed Spina bifida.
When my brother joined me in elementary school when I was in second grade, I began to notice how he was treated by other children. People constantly stared as he tried to get around on his braces. Children would snicker and comment, but my brother was unaffected by such cruel behavior. He always smiled, and was so happy to be walking. After a few weeks, my mother was told that some boys had formed a circle around him and were pushing him, trying to see who could knock him over. She immediately went to the school, and decided to pull him out. When the school administration found out why my mother had pulled him out, they were furious and decided to change their school completely to accommodate Mark. The school administration and teachers discussed the issue with the students, and they made new alterations to the building to support him. She decided to keep him in school but only because Mark wanted to be in school. I remember one afternoon I turned a corner just in time to see a boy push my brother. I became irate, and dropped my books. I yelled “hey!” at the top of my lungs. The boys turned and looked at me in horror, I charged the boy who had shoved my brother in full force, and knocked him over as hard as I could. My brother was so important to me, and nothing ever angered me more than if someone hurt him. As Mark and I grew up together, I continued to be very protective of him. When I heard someone make a mean comment toward him, I always involved myself immediately and indefinitely. Things often got physical if anyone ever touched my brother, and I would always chime in with a good ol’ “what are you looking at? Got a problem?” if someone was staring at him as he walked. I enjoyed seeing the embarrassment on their face after they were made known because I knew how much it bothered my brother and family. After several years, Mark was confined to a wheel chair. He had developed ulcers on the bottoms of his feet from the braces. He was offered an electric wheelchair, but declined because he wanted to wheel himself. In our family’s eyes, as well as in his eyes, he wasn’t handicapped. He was just this normal, wonderful person. I often felt angered that other people couldn’t get passed his physical limitations. When my brother was in middle school, he beat his scout leader, a grown man, in an arm wrestle. He was always so unbelievably strong. He loved to wheel himself all over town, and he took up weight lifting with his friends. He was never held back by his wheelchair either. He once even bodysurfed at Warped Tour in his wheel chair which landed him in the newspaper; he also did all the tricks the skaters did, only he would jump six stairs in his wheelchair instead of on a skateboard. My brother Mark was the best thing that ever happened to my family, and the strongest person I have ever met, both mentally and physically.
When Mark was born it was the biggest blessing my family ever received. He taught us strength and character, and our family is so full of compassion because of everything my brother has endured. Our family never criticizes each other or gets laughs from jokes at another person’s expense. We were a very close family growing up, and even closer as adults. My youngest brother Aaron is the most caring person anyone would ever have the chance of meeting. He is five years my junior, but is wise beyond his years. Aaron now works with autistic children. As the oldest of this wonderful family, I always felt like the protector. I owe my independence and strength as a person to my wonderful relationship with my family and siblings. My incredible mother and father guided our family with love and wisdom. My mother gave up so much to be home with her kids, and often spent much of her time in the hospital with my brother Mark. My family’s dynamic has taught me many life lessons of insurmountable importance. One of the most important lessons I learned from my brother, is that burdens and hardships do, in fact, aid in the construction of the best personalities. Our trials built kindness, tolerance, patience, and most of all true strength of character. The kind of compassion and strength that was exhibited in my home is attributed to the observable challenges that were unexplainably given to my brother. He has an immaculate personality, and only he could be given such a trial. He always finds ways to accomplish what he wants and needs to get done. I can only hope that I can teach my own children the kind of strength and endurance my brother had throughout his life. As an adult he proves himself over and over with his will to never give up. He rotates between using his braces and wheelchair for work, and is the person his boss depends on if someone calls in sick. He is always willing to work and is always grateful for the opportunities he is given. I look forward to the relationships that my own sons will develop with their Uncle Mark, and how he will positively influence their lives. Mark has definitely been one of the most influential people in my life, and I look forward to the next time we get to see him for Christmas.
“Sometimes the Lord calms the storm, and sometimes he lets the storm rage and calms the child.” John H. Groberg
P.S. I could write another essay about my brother Aaron, but I’ll leave that until next time.
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