As my sister-in-law told about inflicting her wrath upon those who dared make fun of her brother, I chuckled out loud. How many times did I stare back at the kids who stared at Jeffrey? As Thad's nine brothers and sisters spoke about the honor, blessings, and privilege of serving their brother, their feelings resonated with my own. As they spoke about the wonderful example and testimony of their parents, I echoed.
I have never heard my parents refer to Jeffrey as a burden. Never. I have never heard them refer to Jeffrey as anything other than one of Heavenly Father's choicest spirits sent to live in our family. I was raised to believe that Jeffrey was an angel among us. They will never know what it means to be empty nesters. They will never enjoy a leisurely and quiet retirement, complete with golf and travel. And they know that. But they have never said it. My parents are amazing and they do it all very quietly, with no show, no call for applause or recognition.
So, while Jeffrey's limitations and challenges are extremely different than Thad's were, I could relate whole-heartedly to the sentiments shared in his funeral. And I sat their with a permanent lump in my throat.
Jeffrey was born when I was four and a half, so I can't really remember life without him. For eight years, he was all I knew of a sibling, so I didn't really expect anything else. He was and is my brother, and I can't imagine life without him. Certainly the blessings of being raised with Jeffrey outweigh any inconvenience. I have learned much of patience, tolerance, service, and gratitude that I would not have otherwise. Every time I am with him, he gives me perspective, grounds me, humbles me. Lest you think otherwise, life with him is not idyllic. He's bossy, he frets, he's anxious and OCD, he doesn't like my food or my house . . . but I love him desperately. And even if I had the chance, I don't know that I would change it. Because he has changed me.
