Dear A,
I have complicated feelings
as I watch you cry, saying you also want to ride a horse. Now that you are five years old,
if I tell you that your brother is getting therapy,
would you be able to understand?
Because we still have to wait,
I comfort you as we walk along the ranch.
You have stopped crying,
but with tears still in your eyes,
you look into the distance.
What are you thinking about?
We found out about J’s disability
when J was twenty-eight months old.
At that time, I spent years believing
that if I gave every desperate effort I had,
J could become like other kids.
After wandering through many days,
I realized that my thoughts were arrogant plans.
We decided to let you ride a horse —
every Saturday morning, time only for you.
While you were riding, you told me
not to go anywhere and to keep watching you.
Even though it was your first time, you rode very well. You
waved your hand to me and I answered with a thumbs-up.
Our family will keep living as we have until now,
and will not change much.
When I think about the future ahead,
the heavy weight of it feels frightening,
but we decided that whenever you want to ride a horse, we will
go.
The Saturday mornings I spend with you —
I drift away from my days.
As if the world has stopped,
only you move.
Your laughter alone fills the world.
