A thirteen-year-old girl’s worries typically consist of having to decide on what movie to see or keeping up with the latest trend, certainly not worrying about the health of her little brother. I had never imagined that my life could change while watching a simple game of youth football.
Watching my brother’s football games on Saturday were pretty routine. In this particular game, Randy, playing as running back, took more hard hits than usual. Then, an opponent twice his size body slammed him into the ground. I watched as his helmet bounced off the ground. I could feel in my stomach that something was wrong. Call it my sisterly instinct. After spending several hours in the hospital, my family and I learned that Randy had suffered a severe concussion and a stroke. This all came as a shock to us.
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After his accident he had the maturity level and attention span of a toddler. He would get extremely upset over the simplest things. He would fall into fits of rage that would last for hours. Within the family, I had a unique way of tending to him that would help ease his fears and anxiety. I’ll never forget coming home from school to find Randy hunched over and frustrated, struggling to complete his make-up work, my exhausted mom at his side. I walked over and noticed his papers blotted with tears. The sincerity of his struggles anguished me. Our relationship during his recovery developed into something greater than one between brother and sister. I became his caretaker in all things. I would simply suggest working together, and I watched the frustration and anxiety in his eyes slip