I first noticed you were different when I was told that you wouldn’t be going to school with me. Initially, I didn’t understand it. You were my big cousin, someone I played with and talked to. You were Bren.

But you never talked back. When I walked, you didn’t walk alongside me. Yet somehow your disabilities never inhibited your impact. You didn’t have to be able to have working legs to be able to show me where I needed to go.

I don't want to say everything happens for a reason, because frankly the cliche burns to type. However, in this instance the sentiment could not hold more truth. So, with that being said, Bren, it's time for me to thank you for being my reason.

Thank you for always being there to listen. Even though you can't respond back with words, I know from the glimmer in your eyes that you understand what I'm saying. People often get too obsessed with words: when to use the right words or when to avoid the wrong words. You don’t need words. The glimmer in your eyes or smirk on your face are words enough.

Thank you for your sweet giggles. Like bubbles of happiness, those little giggles are unknowingly powerful. I definitely don't have to tell you that life can be tough. It can often feel like it's pressing down on my lungs. But your giggles always find a way to pump me full of air and put the light back into a world that seems hauntingly dark.

That day I visited your school was one of the proudest days of my life. Do you remember it? The music was loud. Everyone was dressed in green. I wore a crazy wig. Dancing for your class that St. Patrick’s Day brought me more than just the joy of being your cousin. As a person who usually has anxiety when facing an audience, I felt the tension ease when I caught your eyes in the crowd. I was dancing for you: my big cousin. Suddenly, the stress evaporated from my tensed muscles and I smiled.

Growing up is hard, but it becomes a lot easier when you have a reason to experience life. You have special needs and quite frankly it sucks. You can’t get your license. You can’t go off to college or even ride a bike. I often feel angry at the world for taking those experiences from you. But for you, I will not be angry. For you, I will take pride in these seemingly mundane stepping stones, because I am lucky. I am so very lucky.

So with every step that growing up begs from my legs, I step for you. And with this next step I apologize.

I’ve been a coward. There’s a word that people use to shame others. In the past, that word was often used to describe special individuals like you. Except this time it’s not being used to describe your giggles. It’s not the characterization of your warm brown eyes. It doesn’t embody the positive impact that you’ve had on everyone that has had the pleasure of having you in their life. It’s a bad word and I’ve let you down. I should have yelled or screamed whenever someone used that word. I should have spoken of the beauty that you bring into this world or how you’ve made me into the person I am today.

You are not your can nots and I plan to show others this. I may have been a coward, but I promise that I will no longer sit aside and listen to others diminish you. I will tell people of your teachings and how you've taught me to never take anything for granted.

Some people come into this world and it's unclear what their true purpose is. But you have this truly unique ability of clarifying that for me. So thank you Bren, for making me me.