How my brother with autism mourned -- and handled -- the closing of Joe’s Doughs
Nineteen months. That is what separates my little brother and me. Nineteen months, my marriage and his lack of one, my three children to his none, and his autism.
Growing up as the oldest child, it was natural for me to take on the role of the leader with our three siblings. This was a constant, whether we were in South Carolina, Tennessee, or North Carolina.
Being my brother’s keeper, however, is a learned position. I’m not sure when it happened but I became (whether he liked it or not) my brother’s translator, chauffeur, wing-woman and bodyguard. I regularly gave him a hard time about any random thing, as all siblings do. Mainly his love of Nickelback and early 2000s pop.
I did that while secretly jamming to the same music every bit as hard as he did.
Fast forward to present time.
My little brother and I are staring 30 in the face. I’m 29. He’s 27. Over the years, not much has changed. He is a regular fixture in both my office and at my kitchen table in Charlotte.
He still says words like “Lolz”, draws a giant, three-dimensional letter “S” in the word “smile,” continues to shamelessly rock out to Dark Horse, and he still struggles when it comes to expressing his thoughts, needs or wants. He struggles to communicate those to other people, especially those he has never met.
To my little brother, having and keeping a stable routine is the key to having a high-functioning, productive day. Recently, he got a job working for a construction company. He is so proud of that! Their current project is located in NoDa.
One problem: Every day, for the last four weeks or so, my little brother would stop at Joe’s Doughs. Before it closed unexpectedly on Dec. 3.
Every day, he would stop by their shop and get three doughnuts. His favorite was their Maple Bacon.
He would cut each pastry in half, eat one part excitedly right then and there. Then, with the predictability of a clock, he would stop by my office after work and offer me the other halves. Every day, he told me how much he loved the Maple Bacon.
This was his routine. This was his comfort zone.
When the shop suddenly closed, his routine also came to an unplanned halt. This shift was enough to throw his regimen into a tailspin. He left home without his coffee, went for three days without eating breakfast and sorrowfully told me each night how he missed Joe’s Doughs.
I was online late two nights ago and I saw a story about Duck Donuts in Dilworth.
Figuring it was worth a shot, I sent my brother a link to their shop and encouraged him to check it out.
After some convincing, my shy, tongue-tied, adorable brother marched his way in there yesterday morning to get breakfast.
He sent me a text message: “They have a Maple Bacon Doughnut! All their food is really good 2.”
Then came the one that made my heart smile: “They were nice to me. They talked 2 me 2 lolz. I can’t wait to go back.”
That night, my thoughtful, blue-eyed, brother brought home two full boxes of mostly Maple Bacon doughnuts.
Life is full of curveballs and challenges. We all face them and handle them differently. Whether they are in the form of a new job, a life change, or a doughnut shop closing; my goal in life to to handle them with the bravery, boldness, and excitement of my little brother.
We may be separated in life by 19 months but I will always be his biggest cheerleader and best friend.
And I’ll always take those extra doughnut halves.
Photo: CharlotteFive, Hannah Moore
This story was originally published December 7, 2017 at 10:00 PM with the headline "How my brother with autism mourned -- and handled -- the closing of Joe’s Doughs."