A Short Walk Home by David Cry Page B

married Jaymee, it felt as though I was entering into a lifelong partnership with Logan, as well as with her. And from the moment Brennan was born, my heart was filled with a type of love that was previously foreign to me. This is, in my opinion, love in its purest form, and it feels as though it will sustain me for the rest of my life and beyond.
    When I got sick just as my life was beginning, it did not allow me to think much about being a father. The unconventional steps we took to conceive, while it didn’t “take away from the magic,” it
did
put everything into a different perspective. And from the moment Brennan was born, my life changed. All the things I thought I knew about life were rendered moot. All of the hopes I ever had for myself disappeared in an instant. Living, breathing flesh and blood relied on me. It was the greatest gift I have ever received.
    This is how I truly feel: Brennan Cry is our miracle. Not only was he conceived in a manner that allowed us to avoid ALDaltogether, he has also served as the perfect distraction throughout Logan’s battle with ALD. When he was a baby, I would spend each day playing with him, always making sure to educate and expose him to positive things. We were constantly making the effort to engage him: soothing sighs, tons of hugs and kisses, and all the “I love you’s” he could ever need. The one thing we never did was baby talk to him. Early on, I had told Jaymee I believed baby talk to be a mistake. And now, according to the former head of curriculum at our school system, at ages 3, 4 and 5 Brennan consistently maintained the highest verbal IQ that she has ever experienced in her 40 years of teaching. Speaking to our son, age 6 at time of writing, is often like conversing with an adult. At the end of kindergarten, his teacher sent home a list of 50 sight words that he would need to know by the start of first grade. By the time school ended, he could read all 50 in about a minute. More than that, his reasoning skills are extremely nuanced for his young age; Brennan can conceive of and comprehend things most kids his age cannot.
    So, needless to say, there was no hiding what was going on with Logan from his little brother. But attempting to explain to a 2-year-old boy that his sibling, a person whom he had loved unconditionally, right from the start, would no longer be alive, seemed impossible. There was no one point where we sat him down and discussed the situation; most of his understanding was gradual, and occurred in response to questions he asked.
    “Dad, what’s wrong with Lolo?” The question came in the middle of the summer of 2010, just a week after Logan had been diagnosed.
    “Well sweetie,” I answered cautiously, “Your brother is having some problems. And I hate to say this, but they
will
get worse.” I didn’t see any point in hiding things from Brennan. “If you areever frightened by anything you see or hear, please just let Mom and Dad know, and we will do our best to help you.”
    Brennan knew that his brother was sick. Even his instinct told him so. We hadn’t said a word to him prior to his asking, and although he lacked the words to describe it, he knew that Logan’s prognosis was not good. But this recognition led to a closeness with Logan that we will forever be grateful for.
    As parents, you always hope to see the developmental milestones fall into place. The first step, the first word; those incremental movements forward. With Logan, we had to watch this occur in reverse. It was difficult, especially for Brenny.
    But over time, we watched Brennan transform into the big brother, taking Logan’s place. He became highly protective of Logan as nature and nurture took control. It was an amazing process to behold. I will never forget the mornings when Brennan, sensitive and sweet, would climb into bed with his brother, wrap his arms around him and whisper, “Everything will be alright, Logan.”
    That’s not to say that this was an easy