Dear Zachary

Dear Zachary,

If you’re reading this letter then your Dad and I have gone to the Great Beyond (not happily, but you know, death and taxes), and of course I had to leave something behind for you.

I always enjoyed having the last word.

First, let me say what a joy it was to be your mom. You were an intelligent, compassionate, funny kid who grew into an intelligent, compassionate and funny adult (your jokes always slayed me), and your dad and I were so proud of who you became. We loved watching you mature, adored your wife (I would have picked her too!), felt so fortunate to watch your children grow to adulthood.

Being their grandma was almost as incredible as being your mom.

I know every decent parent is proud of their child, but I was particularly proud of you. You overcame many obstacles when you were little, from the autism that initially robbed you of your words to the ADHD which made it so difficult for you to focus. With time, hard work (and I like to think a dash of good parenting) you grew into a young man for whom autism was a gift, not a burden. You are proud of who you are- that may be the thing I’m most proud about you too.

I know, I drove you crazy saying this every day, but you truly are awesome.

I know we’ve had many talks about your brother and you may be feeling like this letter is overkill (you often said I repeated myself too often and it drove you crazy, that’s what you get when you have an old mom), but I felt I needed to put a few things into words, so here goes.

First of all, thank you for being such a loving little brother.

I know you two didn’t have a lot in common growing up. I know you wanted a brother or sister you could play with or talk to (you were my miracle “old mommy” baby, sorry but a third child was never in the cards), but you were amazing with him none-the-less. I appreciate the concern you always showed him (even when you told me you thought I was doing something wrong), and your patience when his wants and needs affected your life. I like to think he taught you compassion and patience, so I don’t believe the “good brother” thing was a one-way street. I think you are even kinder in your world outlook because of him, and while you were a gift to him, he was one to you too.

To the depths of my heart I hope you believe this too.

So I’m writing to you today to ask you to keep up that little brother role where you excelled. Your dad and I did the best we could for Justin. We believe the group home we chose for him affords him a safe place to live, and his day program is about as good as it gets. Somehow we were able to craft a good adult life for him, a fact for which we are eternally grateful. However he will still need your supervision, occasional interventions, and your visits.

He will always need your love.

In typical “Mom McCafferty” fashion I’ve left you a list of things I’d like you to address over the next (hopefully) forty years. There will be clothes to buy, and doctor visits to book. There will be body checks to make sure nobody is hurting him.

There will one day be a colonoscopy. I’m hoping they come up with a stunning alternative to that. Good luck.

Mostly my dear son, I simply hope you’ll visit him often (bring food, the people taking care of him are underpaid, they deserve it). I know he didn’t play with you all the years you lived together. I know he never asked for you, or offered to share something of his with you, or even said “bye” when you left the house.

But I know he loved you, from the simple fact of that smile that stretched a mile wide whenever he saw you when you’d been apart, that special smile reserved only for you, his mom, and his dad.

Trust me, it exists.

The truth of the matter is I loved him Zach, just as I loved you from the depths of my soul to my often overburdened heart. I was just as proud of him as I was of you, for conquering his aggression, his sleep and food aversions, to his ability to finally let his ebullient, peaceful nature eventually shine through. I loved him for his hugs that wouldn’t quit and his playfulness with those in his inner circle.

I loved him for his smile.

I loved him with a passion, the way I love you. I have a feeling the strength of it survived my death, and hope you’ll always feel it with you.

I know you’ll be busy, what with the job, the wife, and the grandchildren you’ll be having soon (with five kids you’re almost guaranteed), but please do your best with him, and know your dad and I appreciate it from beyond the grave.

Yes, I’m being dramatic. Along with the last word, I enjoyed that too.

Know I adore you, and remain forever in your heart. You summon my love every time you hug your kids, kiss your lovely bride, or do a good turn for someone in this world. I could not have been more proud of you. I love you, my sweet boy.

Thank you.

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