Avery

I was tucking my 'other' child into bed this evening and I realized how unrepresented he has been through his brother's battle with cancer.  I've approached the better half of a six pack tonight but I still remain cognizant of how special Everett's older brother is.  (Avery if you read this later in life, know that drinking, although frowned upon until you're of age, induces emotions not ordinarily seen in Van Dyke men).

We are going on the 174th day of the worst 174 days of our lives.  Without digging through medical bills, blogs, and Facebook posts, I would estimate that 120-130 of those days were spent in Children's hospital by Val and me, or both, leaving Avery with his grandparents and babysitters (much love to Megan).  Of these days, more than not were spent with one parent and a few weeks with no parents.  I don't know if Avery knows what we're going through (I myself, as a child, had to grow up probably a little sooner than I would have liked) or if it's a helping hand from God but, to use a usually misplaced phase, he is 2, going on 12. 

I asked Avery tonight, as I do every night, "it's time for bed, are you ready?"  "Yes," he says, "I'm ready."  He grabs his white knitted blanket, one of two he's had since he was born (Everett isn't nearly as attached to the one that was meant for him), and approaches the steps waiting for me to come.  "Ok, let's go upstairs and read a story"  He hands me his blanket, walks up the steps, one hand clinging to the hand rail, then asks for his blanket, which he proceeds to put in "brotter's bed."  (I have since stopped asking which bed he wants to sleep in, because when brother is not around, he always keeps it occupied until his return).  He proceeds to the reading room (more of a hallway with a recliner and ottoman from when they were infants), stands on the chair, and pulls the string on the light.  "Which book do you want to read tonight?"  More times than not, it's the Bible (children's version we received from Pastor Tom).  He sits down on my lap and flips through and picks a section where I should start.  I read 2 or 3 stories and I tell him "All done, let's turn the light off."  He stands up and pulls the string again.  "I want to brush my teeth," he says (as if we've ever missed a nighttime brushing) and he gallops into the bathroom.  He waits patiently by the sink for Dad to get his toothbrush ready for him, I brush, he brushes, and then drinks some water.  He scampers to his room, I pick him up, and he reaches up to turn his night light on.  "Daddy loves you," I say.  "I love you Daddy, I love you Mommy, I love you Brotter," he says as he lies down in Everett's bed.  I close the door and don't hear a sound until 7:30 the next morning.

This his how every night has been for the last 6 months for Avery and I.  I haven't studied the night time habits of any other 2 year olds to know how exceptional he may or may not be, but he knows his routine, he does it without any fuss, and as incredibly hard as each day continues to be, he makes it easier on me.  He may be only 2 years old, but he's had to go through this as much as we have and in some respects it's harder on him than it is on his younger brother.

If you would ask him today, "Where's Mommy?"  He would say, without any hesitation, "At the hospital, with brotter, I see them this weekend."