Dear Jess,
Is it strange to write you a letter? A letter that you can’t read?

When we were little, we would go to the playground, and I would be your voice. Other kids would look at you for far too long as you chased them around hoping for a playmate. I would have to explain: “This is my big sister, Jess. She just wants to play. She can't talk, but she can understand. Just talk to her, and she will listen.”

Only sometimes you wouldn’t listen. Mom had to tell you over and over, “Stop going up and hugging random kids you do not know. Give them space!”

I always felt you had the right idea though—love people first, figure out why later.

You probably don’t realize this, but you’ve taught me a lot about making friends. A best friend is someone who accepts us as we are. You know a lot about this because you like to be friends with everyone. It makes me sad sometimes that not everyone likes to be friends with you. It doesn’t make you sad, though. That’s because you know something others don’t, and you have taught it to me: I always know how nice another person is by how they treat you.

This is one of your superpowers—identifying nice people. You’re fortunate to have many superpowers. It’s funny the word “disability,” because you have always seemed to have extraordinary capabilities to me.

For one, you sure know how to light up a place. It is literally impossible not to be happy when you are around. Your smile pierces my heart like a flash of lighting. No matter my mood, your smile is sure to raise it.

I can look over my shoulder on a cold, cloudy day to find you laughing, skipping, always oblivious to any of the world’s most ominous signals.

“How was your day, Jess-O?” I ask.

You can’t respond with words, but I can see by the light in your beautiful, hazel eyes that your day was fabulous, just like the day before and the one before that.

There are days when my eyes can glisten too, but not with sparkles like yours. When my eyes glisten it’s usually with tears. I had one of those days recently. I spent seven hours at school where I tanked a math test, got in a fight with my friends, and learned that it was true: the world is, in fact, blowing up. To top it all off, I went to running practice, my usual place of sanctuary, took one step and felt a sharp pain stabbing through my foot. “Here we go again,” I thought…

Sometimes, when I can’t do something I want to do, I feel sorry for myself. I wish you could teach me how not to do that. I know there are all sorts of things your body won’t let you do. If it bothers you at all, you sure are great at hiding it, because that smile never leaves your face. I guess when you can find joy in simple things, it’s easier to not stay sad so long.

Another one of your superpowers—you live in the moment. The rest of us are always striving, looking ahead to the next goalpost. Wondering and worrying and wanting. You want nothing. Except for maybe a cookie if it happens to catch your eye. That makes sense to me. Imagine what the world could be if we all enjoyed the moment more and only wanted cookies.

The truth is, Jess, and this is hard to admit, but I am often jealous of you. I know it is a strange thing to say to someone who needs so much assistance for things I take for granted, like going to the bathroom or brushing your teeth or crossing the street.

Still, I envy the way you naturally experience the world—enjoying unfettered happiness and unencumbered contentment. I guess you figured out that needing some help could be a blessing, not a handicap. Where does our obsession with independence and self-reliance come from? Personally, I think we all could use some help.

I am going off to college soon, and I will tell you something else that is hard to admit: I am scared. What if no one likes me? What if I can’t do it? What if I need help? This is where I think I can look up to you. I will accept help. And most of all, I’ll grab every tasty treat that comes my way.

Mom told me once that life will be very hard for you because your brain did not develop the way it should have. Isn’t it funny how silly parents can be?

As always, thanks for listening, Jess.

I love you,
Mia