My little brother is not like most kids.  He is six, but he cannot read, talk, walk, write, count, play/throw a ball, or even sit up, eat, or go to the bathroom without help.  Basically, he is like an infant in a six-year-old body.

The reason Skilyr Shane is the way he is is because his real daddy threw him against the wall in a fit of rage after Skilyr wouldn't stop crying.  Skilyr was badly hurt and suffered irreversable brain damage.  He was only a few months old at the time.  Well, his daddy was arrested and thrown in jail, and Mom divorced him on the spot; yet it was Skilyr who suffered the most.

After Skilyr recovered well enough to be released from the hospital, Mom took him in and adopted him: this was how Skilyr became my little brother.

And I happen to love him with every fiber of my being.

I sometimes help Mom and Papa (step daddy) take care of Skilyr: I know how to do his feedings through a tube that goes directly into his stomach, give him his medications every four hours, day and night, change his diapers or his clothes, do simple therapy exercises to stretch his limbs, and know how to spot signs of trouble or what to do if he has a seizure.  He isn't that hard to take care of; once I learned how to do all this, I became more comfortable and I think I am pretty well grounded even in times of crisis or sickness.

Skilar is very cute: curly red hair, big brown eyes fringed with the blackest, longest lashes found anywhere, and a smile that lights up his face.  He is going to be a heartthrob when he gets older; already the girls and women gravitate towards him whenever he is out in public. 

Some people don't see anything more than a child in a wheelchair, but I happen to see a child who is a miracle, a child who makes me smile just by being around him.  I also see him as my brother, and he's the bst thing that could have ever happened to our family.  The day we adopted hm was a day of celebration and better than Christmas, my birthday, or the Fourth of July combined!