When words fail

There are so many things that Owen and Sam have in common.  I often wonder if Noah would have been our outlier, or just like his brothers.  

Would he have had their blue eyes, their love of music, singing and dancing? Would he have shared their trouble sleeping, eating, their late mobility, and speech delays.  

Sam is almost the age that Owen was when Noah was born.  Owen and I talked about Noah a lot.  Every day he would pat my stomach and say “baby.”  And I would reply, “no, baby Noah came out.  He died.”  

Sam and I don’t have that daily conversation.  I want so much for him to know, to understand his brother.  But it’s hard, in part because Sam has a speech delay.  He doesn’t even have a word for Owen yet.  

Owen had a speech delay too.  At 19 months, they each were evaluated and found to have the speech level of an 11-13m old.  By 21m Owen was in speech therapy.  He made quick, amazing progress and around 26m, he graduated from speech.  He is now a voracious communicator.  

By contrast, Sam will be two in 2 weeks.  We still don’t have a speech therapist due to a “staffing shortage.”  He wants to talk.  He is extremely motivated, but we don’t have the tools.  This has now escalated to conversations with the director of the state early intervention program, and getting a lawyer.  It’s a battle.  But I want to desperately to be able to talk to Sam and know what he understands.  About everything, but particularly about Noah.  I want him to know his brother.  To have words for both of them.  

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