"Carolyn is the youngest of our 7 kids. When she was born, we knew within the first few moments that she was different… From the minute we brought Carolyn home, Megan was the second mom," my glossy-eyed mother shared with the interviewer and camera crew. My first morning home for winter break after my first semester at BU and I was already up early, due to Carolyn flicking on my light and announcing that she was "going to be a movie star!", dressed, — ironically matching my mother so she had to change (we're more alike then I'll ever admit) — and I had even spent some time with a make-up artist; which was ironic because all the make-up applied was to make me look "natural" on camera. And there I was, sitting in my kitchen on a cold December morning, reminiscing on an event that changed my family and all our lives forever. We were the "stars" of a documentary being made for a film festival in Milan this March.
As the filming and creation of the documentary progressed, vivid memories of Carolyn's arrival replayed in my mind as I was asked to recall the event. It all started one spring when my parents dropped a "surprise" on me and my 5 siblings at the dinner table. When my dad announced that he and my mom had something to tell us, my older brothers and I looked at each other knowingly. My mom announced she was going to have a baby. My two older brothers and I turned and looked at my parents proclaiming, nearly in unison, "ANOTHER one?" The thing is, we'd heard this announcement a few times before… about every two years, in fact. Of course this wasn't exactly the response my parents were going for, but when there are already six kids and they threaten buying one of those grotesque 12-passenger vans or a bus just so your whole family can drive somewhere in one car, we clearly had a legitimate right to be concerned. However, my three younger sisters were more excited initially – perhaps we should have followed suit.
As my mom finished our homeschooling and as I completed the 4th grade, that spring of 2004 passed quickly; but more so due to the fact that my family was moving. Not only were we getting "ANOTHER" sibling, but we were also moving – again. This would be my fifth house, but at least I'd only lived in Minnesota. My oldest brother had lived in 3 different states. We were used to change. We were used to things in life coming and going. We'd all said our fair share of "good-byes", and had many eye-opening "hellos" as well. Life taught us each that lesson in a few different ways.
Summer followed spring as my family and I adjusted to our new home in a suburb; a bit different from the 25acre farm we'd lived on the past 4 years. But even this adjustment seemed insignificant to the changes that followed the brisk weather and the trees turning to represent autumn in a full array of yellows, golds, auburns, reds and browns. My three sisters and I created and leapt into great piles of the colors and watched them burst into the crisp air. With this change of season, the time for our new sister's (yep, "ANOTHER" girl, too) arrival drew nearer.
My mom's due date was December 2nd, but my sister, already making her own plans, was breech for much of the pregnancy so when my mom went in on November 29th and the baby was positioned correctly the doctors wanted to induce her immediately. My mom convinced them to wait until the next day; thus November 30th became the day that would alter my life and all my family dynamics forever. To say everything changed is an understatement.
I got to see all my other younger sisters the day they were born, but this time we weren't allowed to. I found that very strange. I was instantly worried. Roughly a year ago my mother miscarried my baby brother. Due to that experience, the fear that I might not get to meet this sister crept inside of me. I knew something was wrong, because my parents were noticeably troubled. My fear of loss grew.
The first day of December was the day I met Carolyn. My dad was quiet on the way to the hospital. His occasional sniffles were the only sounds I heard. Concentrated on looking out the window at the dry, bare December earth and gloomy sky; I tried to make it easier for my dad by not letting him realize I acknowledged his struggle. I tucked my thick brown hair behind my ear to sneak peeks at my dad, only to notice his wet red eyes. Something was definitely wrong.
"We need to get gas," my dad said as he turned to pull into the gas station on our right. These were the first words he spoke since our car ride began. I took advantage of this moment.
"Daddy…is something wrong with Carolyn?" I asked, looking up at him. I was worried she was sick, or that maybe she wasn't going to make it.
My dad pulled next to a gas pump, took a deep breath, and put the car in park. Gazing out the windshield with tears in his eyes, he said, "We're not sure what is going on yet. But the doctors and mom and I think that Carolyn might have something called Down syndrome." This is one of my few vivid memories of seeing my strong, determined, able and undefeatable father cry. "We're not sure what that means, and we don't know much about it," and neither did I. I was only 10 years old at the time. "A lot of things will be different, she won't be like your other sisters, and she will need more attention and need us to take really good care of her."
"Oh…well, she's going to be ok… right?" I asked because I already had my reservations and I also knew she was very, very small.
He turned from the windshield to look at me. "Yes, she is going to be ok. She is sick right now, and needs to get stronger, but she is going to be fine."
I felt the weight of the camera crew's eyes on me. I was lost in thought, thinking back to the day I first held Carolyn. I realized they were waiting for something from me. "I'm sorry, can you repeat the question?" I asked.
Jerry, the director, repeated: "How did you react at first to having a sister with Down syndrome?"
Now I understood why all those memories came rushing back. Fresh in my mind, I was able to share that "When my dad first told me, I remember feeling very relieved, and thankful that, 'ok, that was it. She's healthy. She's fine. She's going to be able to come home with us'. In that moment I was so content I didn't even care about her having Down syndrome. Yeah it meant a lot of things, ok, maybe everything, was going to change - and that wouldn't be easy, but it didn't matter if it was easy - it just mattered that she was coming home and that she would be with us. I had to grow up quickly and take on a lot of responsibility at a young age, but she continues to give and teach me so much every day."
"My daughters Megan and Carolyn have a really unique bond," my mom chimed in.
"Megan, could you share how Carolyn has enriched your life and how she's helped you become a more loving human being?" Jerry asked.
My cheeks instantly flush, and my voice excited, yet slightly trembling as I spoke, "Carolyn is my hero. She's a role model to me, and one of my best friends. She has taught me so many things, like patience, and the meaning of true joy. She has faced so many obstacles in her short life, and something important that she's really taught me is that even when life says "no," you can say "no" right back." All of this was more than true. This little girl who the world said had no value showed me what it meant to live, to truly live, to embrace every good thing.
The documentary we were making was only allowed to be three minutes long, although it took nearly a whole day to record all the necessary footage.
After two weeks, when the documentary was finalized, Carolyn and I watched our "movie" together.
Dramatic music played. A quote, "Loving a child with special needs is life altering, but loving a sibling with special needs creates you from the ground up," appeared on the screen.
Next Carolyn kisses me on the cheek as we get our makeup done, and then steals bites of dough as we bake Christmas cookies. Not too long and my mom is speaking about me, "Megan loves a good challenge. In fact, she seeks out difficult things to do to just to prove that the impossible is possible." The director's idea for this documentary was to look at someone who society said had no value, and show how that person can benefit the life of someone society labels "super successful". This was a little uncomfortable for me, because I really don't think I'm that great. I just wanted the video to be about Carolyn, my beautiful sister who changed my life forever in all the best ways.
The documentary nears closing as I say "pick any subject I have a story, pick any virtue, there's a way she's taught it to me."
Even her everyday trials and triumphs, such as teaching her to pee in the woods "like her big sisters" (as she asked), gave me opportunities to practice patience. I will forever be grateful to her for teaching me to die to myself, and giving me the desire to serve others. An amusing way she reinforces this lesson is by requesting that I sing (out loud) as I run with her in the jogging stroller. I now have no fear of my "presentation" to others and understand what it means to humble myself in order to bless others.
Blackness covers the screen as a devastating statistic is revealed: "When Down Syndrome is discovered in the womb, over 90% of these children are aborted."
The camera is back on me, and I confess "I can honestly say that I would not be the person I am today if Carolyn were not in my life."
A photo of me holding Carolyn, us smiling at each other, comes into focus. The closing thought overlays the still image, "The measure of a life is not in what one does, but the impact one has on others."
Carolyn, whom my brothers and I first referred to as "ANOTHER" sister, became my family's game changer and playmaker. She is the love of my life, now and forever. Because of this little girl, my character has been defined, strengthened, and refined. She taught me to persevere, and to smile even when life doesn't smile back.
