He knows the meaning of and can pronounce “idiopathic.” He can differentiate between a grand mal and an absence seizure and delineate the characteristics of each. And he will be the first one to tell you exactly what epilepsy is (“a little problem with the electricity in your brain”) and is not (“a sickness”).
He’s seven years old and quite possibly the best big brother on the planet.
Yesterday he discovered his brother having a seizure, knew exactly what he had to do, and explained to the five-year-old onlookers why they should not be laughing. This morning he perceived an aura before either one of his parents–though we were all in the room together–and warned us of what he was sure was an impending seizure. (It was.)
Tonight he asked if his brother would ever be able to get his driver’s license and assured me that should Edgar not be able to drive, he would take him where he needed to go.
He told me he worries and that he’ll always look out for him.
And I looked into those big brown eyes and wondered who he is, how we got so lucky, and is this too much.
So I asked him. “Oscar, do you ever feel as though this is too much?”
And his reply?
“It’s not ‘too much.’ It’s life. And it’s going to be okay.”
And I believe him. Because it’s him.