Scottish Catholic Observer

‘GOODNIGHT, Rachel Murray, how about giving your brother a hug?” That’s the infamous greeting of my big brother, Charlie Murray, as he waits outside the bathroom before I make my way to my bed.

Besides it being routine procedure, I knew that he was standing outside because I heard him laughing and muttering to the people that only he knows; those tucked away in his mind, formulated by his schizophrenic disorder. I have the timing and tone in which he greets me down to a T. It’s no skill on my part—it’s what you would expect from living with someone who has Over Compulsive Disorder. But the innocent joy and newness with which he delivers it can perhaps be attributed to his autism. This is my big brother Charlie.

Third youngest of ten siblings, 31-years-old, and youngest of the two in the family who have been diagnosed with autism along with other disabilities. I am the youngest.

‘Hug,’ I reply as I gently put my arms on his shoulders before he moves swiftly away—there is only so much contact he can handle, it’s a common trait of those who have autism. Nevertheless, his response to the little hug is always grateful.

“Thank you sister. Sleep well.”

“You too Charlie, God bless.”

And so the evening routine concludes for yet another night. Over the years, Charlie has consistently said goodnight in this way. Now a man, with a mental age of seven, he carries out the same child-like comforts we all enjoyed at that age.

The scripture ‘be like little children’ comes to mind. This picture of innocence brings into sharp focus the debate which took place in the House of Lords two weeks ago.

The Abortion (Disability Equality) Act, introduced by disabled peer Lord Shinkwin, received its second reading. The bill aims to remove disability, as a ground for abortion, from the 1967 Act. It opened up my mind and heart to imagining what my life would be like without my two brothers, Francis and Charlie, had they been victims of what Shinkwin called the ‘search and destroy’ approach, and denied the right to live on account of their disabilities.

Every person is unique, but I think that this is especially true of Francis and Charlie, particularly when compared to each other. To quote my mum: “When you meet one person with autism, you meet one person with autism.” Meaning, no one person on the autistic spectrum is the same as the next. It makes me chuckle to think of their differences. Francis is the perfect combination of a brash gentleman, full of charisma and inimitable style. His ambition is second to none.

He has dreamt of being an opera singer, actor, pop star, model, a playwright, a home owner with a butler, prime minister, a heavy metal singer and an Oasis band member all at the same time and with a genuine conviction that he will be. And who am I to say different?

In the past couple of years alone, thanks to the support and care of the staff at SENSE Scotland, he has travelled to France, Spain and Holland, to attend gigs of his favourite bands.

He has danced around freely in nightclubs, had guitar lessons and performed on stage. With the rightsupport, he has managed to achieve so much.

But more importantly, this ‘disabled’ man has been more ‘able’ in attaining the most valuable qualities that we, who don’t have disabilities, struggle to maintain.

How often I have allowed myself to be discouraged, losing hope in my own abilities, sometimes through purely irrational insecurities. The fear of what other people think can so easily disable me from being ‘able’ and free to be the person God created me to be.

Francis, however, has unfailing hope, vision and aspirations for his life. Even if it has been suggested that political and societal bodies such as the Department of Health’s ‘eugenic screening programme’ say that a person with severe disability, would be ‘better off dead,’ Francis’ goal of living ‘life to the full’ (John 10:10) is unchanging.

In contrast to the ambitious dreams of Francis, Charlie’s life is full with the simple pleasures such as cake, delivering the Catholic papers with dad on a Friday and eagerly anticipating his trip to the Christmas show at the Dundee Rep with my mum.

I suppose that some ‘able’ human beings might look upon that sort of life with pity, assuming that this is not a ‘good quality of life.’ But which one of us can say that we stop and declare with a childlike excitement that we are happy to be having chips with our tea that night?

Or still have Superman as our favourite film even after having watched it 500 times? Or still look forward to Santa coming at the age of 31?

Or repeatedly being entertained by the same memory which happened years ago, laughing wholeheartedly as if the moment was happening all over again?

Or having the unreserved humility to say sorry when you know you’ve annoyed someone and so badly want to insist ‘I’ll do better next time’?

It can be all too easy to rush past these genuine, love-filled moments typical of Charlie’s life in pursuit of a life deemed more ‘valuable,’ filled with emails, meetings and discussing the next project over a skinny latte.

People with disabilities can surprise us with their abilities. For example, having been diagnosed with dyslexia in my teens, I never thought that I would find myself writing a feature for our national Catholic newspaper.

I’m grateful to God and those whose vision is not limited to what people can’t do, but see the potential of every human life for who they are. Life without my brothers is unthinkable. People with disabilities can teach us so much about what it is to really love.

They can draw out the best in their fellow human beings. When a parent cares for a child with special needs, from the dinner table to the toilet, in every aspect of their daily routine, it is a truly inspirational reminder of the essence of what the Gospel is all about.

There is so much grace to be gained from living this vocation. Lord Shinkwin’s efforts to defend the lives of people with disabilities from being discriminated against before birth are a sign of hope that there are many in our society who recognise the value of every human life.

After all, as my dad will sometimes say, looking at Charlie or Francis with a proud smile: “It’s not them that need to worry about meeting God, it’s us.”