Part 3: Helping Our Son Understand His Brother’s Autism

Embracing the Unexpected: A Family’s Journey with Autism

Part 3: Helping Our Son Understand His Brother’s Autism

During one of Joel’s evaluations, the therapist asked a series of questions about his social interactions:
“Does he play with other children?” No.
“Does he show interest in other children?” No.
“Will he show you or anyone a toy if he’s excited about it?” No.

With each answer, my heart sank a little more.
But then came a glimmer of hope:

“Does he like to play with his older brother?”

“Yes!”

Though Joel doesn’t express it the way a neurotypical three-year-old might, there’s no doubt—he adores playing with his big brother.
Their game is simple but sacred: they run full speed down the long hallway in our home, launching into the arms of a waiting parent at the end. It’s their thing. And in those brief, joy-filled moments, Joel lights up. His eyes sparkle, his grin stretches wide—there’s a twinkle of recognition and connection. He is completely aware of James beside him, and it shows.

Even more beautiful is how James adjusts without needing to be asked. He naturally slows his pace so Joel can keep up. He makes space. If Joel gets distracted or takes an extra turn, James doesn’t get annoyed—he simply adapts. He creates room for Joel to be exactly who he is.

The Tenderness of a Big Brother

James, our six-year-old, has always had a tender, intuitive heart. Even before Joel was born, he felt bonded to him. While I was pregnant, he affectionately called his little brother “Baby Bob”—a name that came out of nowhere and somehow stuck. From the beginning, he’s treated Joel as something precious – someone to cherish and protect.

In fact, one of our biggest “problems” is how much James loves his brother. We often have to remind him, “That’s enough hugging—let him breathe.” And James will smile and reply, “But he’s just so cute, Mommy! I can’t help it!”

There have been so many moments that speak to James’ deep affection and resilience. Like the time Joel was having a complete meltdown in the backseat—overwhelmed and inconsolable—and James, without being prompted, began softly singing Baby Shark on repeat – for an hour – until Joel calmed down. Or when Joel gets overstimulated, and James instinctively begins dancing, singing, or being silly to help redirect him.

James is always tuned in—ready to yell “MOM!” the moment Joel climbs something he shouldn’t, or to jump into big-brother mode with lightning speed. Even now, as I write this, I can hear James gently singing Hush Little Baby from his bed, trying to comfort his fussing brother in the crib beside him.

James isn’t just Joel’s brother. He is his protector, his comforter, and his most loyal advocate.

A Quiet, Costly Love

James is emotionally attuned in a way that’s rare for his age. As a working mom of two little ones—one of them with autism—there are days I feel completely spent. And somehow, James just… knows. He can sense it in the air.

There have been moments when he walks into a room to ask something simple—like, “Can I go play with my friends?”—but after catching one glance at my face, he pauses and says, “Never mind.” That kind of emotional insight, at age six, is both profoundly beautiful and deeply heartbreaking.

He carries more than a child his age should. Not because we’ve asked him to—but because he loves deeply. He makes sacrifices, both big and small. Some are invisible. Others are loud and obvious. And all of them are sacred.

The Talk

Even before Joel’s diagnosis was official, we’d been trying to help James understand. We explained that Joel’s brain works differently—that just because he doesn’t say “stop” or “get off me” doesn’t mean he’s okay with what’s happening. We were teaching James to tune in, to read Joel’s cues, and to respect his communication—whatever form it took.

When we finally received the diagnosis, we sat down for a special conversation—just the three of us.

We told James that God had entrusted our family with something sacred: the honor of loving, caring for, and protecting Joel. We explained that people with autism are sometimes misunderstood, and it was our job to help both Joel—and the world—navigate those differences with love.

James’ reaction was everything all at once—heartbreaking, inspiring, and deeply moving.

He started shaking with passion and declared, “I’m going to protect him from autism!”

We gently explained that autism wasn’t something we could protect Joel from—that it was a part of who he is. He paused, then said, “Well, I’ll protect him until he’s an adult and grows out of it.”

Again, we explained that autism would always be part of Joel—but that our lives would be richer because of it.

Then, still shaking with passion, James said, “I’ll protect him from anyone who mistreats him or takes advantage of him!”

We praised his loyalty, his heart, and his fierce love—but also reminded him that sometimes, he was the one Joel needed protection from. Especially when playtime got too rough. That was the moment it clicked. James understood that Joel’s brain was different—and that loving him well meant learning how to love him on his terms.

Learning True Love

James doesn’t fully understand the weight he carries. But sometimes, the cracks show.

Like the day a new spinning chair arrived for Joel—a tool to help with sensory input. A few days earlier, my mother-in-law had brought him a special puzzle for motor skill development. Watching all this unfold, James finally asked, “How come Joel gets so much stuff and I don’t get anything new?”

That night, we sat him down. We explained that Joel needs certain tools to help his brain and body. We reminded him of all the things he can do that Joel can’t just yet—more independence, more friendships, more freedom. We also reminded him of the many surprise Pokémon treasures that had made their way into his life, too.

But more than anything, we reminded him that love sometimes costs something. It asks us to make sacrifices. And in our family, we do that together.

James nodded thoughtfully and said, “Well… I do have a lot of Pokémon cards…” then ran off to play.

He may not grasp it all now. But I believe one day he will. And when that day comes, I hope he looks back and sees that, in loving his brother, he learned what it truly means to love sacrificially. To show up. To give freely. And to serve with joy.