This is a true story about a tragedy that befell two twin brothers.  The young men, seniors in high school in the prime of life, were considered to be the cream of their crop:  both star athletes; one the senior class president; the other the newspaper editor; one president of the chess club; the other president of the debate team; both handsome, both with college offers floating in the wind.  The future seemed to hold stars.

Then came the night of the senior prom, the event that has been the night of so much joy, and also sometimes disaster for some.  One was driving, each had a beautiful date.  Yes, they had a few drinks.  The hopeless car crash—both girls killed, one brother a quad for life, the other brother escaped uninjured physically.

This brother, however, became, perhaps, the more “disabled” of the two.  Unable to forgive himself, he became clinically depressed to the point where he needed psychiatric institutional care. Even with medication and therapy he still stared at the wall.

The physically disabled brother did not blame his twin.  After all, he thought, both had taken the decision, foolishly in retrospect of course, to have a few drinks.  But he held no grudge.  He had a good physical therapy course, he moved on with his life, and he actually went on to college the next year.  His brain was uninjured.  He mourned the two young girls, of course, felt a sense of responsibility that will always be with him, but he was able, with therapy, to grieve and accept what had happened.

Not so, his brother.  His brother, the driver, could not forgive himself.  And here is the lesson—how many of us find the capacity to forgive ourselves at the deepest level for our disabilities, even if we know they are not our “fault?”  Accidents happen.  Illnesses occur.  This is the way the world works.

When there are illnesses, we often look to our past for what we may have done to bring this on ourselves—smoking, or stress for example.  Accidents, even if not actually our fault, often leave a scar deep inside that says, “if only I had not gone in that truck, car, motorcycle, etc. that day.”  Some illnesses may have a genetic factor, and we look at our parents with questions in our hearts, perhaps unknown even to ourselves.

There is a large amount of anger in the disability community, and it has been said that anger is an emotion that actually covers over fear.  In many ways, that makes sense.  But anger can also be just anger with ourselves, with God, with fate, with the universe, for what has happened to us.

The story of the brothers is a true story.  It has a good ending.  The physically disabled brother met a wonderful woman at school and they fell in love.  They married.  They had a child.  They named him after the twin brother who was still in the psychiatric hospital.

They brought the young child (then about 9 months old) for a visit, and the brother looked up for the first time in many months.  He reached out and held the child.  On the next visit he smiled.

An amazing thing was happening.  He began to love that little boy, his brother’s son. 

It was the love for that little child that brought about the forgiveness—he began to forgive himself.  He began to forgive God, the car, his parents, his own brother who had allowed them to drink.  And his anger began to melt.

I sometimes think that the amount of anger that is on display in the disability community could be resolved with a measure of self forgiveness, along with several teaspoons of love.  Self love, love of others, an outward looking instead of an inward looking so that those of us who are still caught in the “damn, I’m not what I once was” cycle can move to a newer place.