Imagine a world where disease had been conquered by science, where babies were born without birth defects, where there were no severely handicapped or brain-damaged people, where everyone was productive, and only the very young and the very old needed care. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?
Or would it? I’m inclined to think that wouldn’t be such a wonderful world. For one thing it wouldn’t have included my brother Brian.
Brian was born brain-damaged in 1946, a beautiful little boy who appeared to be no different than any other infant. The first evidence that there might be something wrong with Brian was his failure to communicate with us through speech. He could show you what he wanted, cry, yell, but not verbalize.
When he was five years old he began having terrible seizures. For the next 15 years or more, in search of a cure for their little boy, my parents took him to specialists up and down the east coast. From the specialists they received a variety of diagnoses – autism, cerebral palsy, idiocy – but no help. Most recommended committing him to an institution, which in those days usually meant a short and unhappy life for the institutionalized. To their eternal credit, my parents refused to do that.
Brian died peacefully seven years ago, at the age of 53, at home in the loving care of his younger sister. His job was done. Brian’s entire life had been spent in the care of his family, which is probably why he lived as long as he did. (We were told that most people in his condition don’t live that long.) Brian’s job, his purpose in life, was to make everyone who cared for him better than they would have been without him.
What the Disabled Do for the Rest of Us
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