I’ve tossed around the idea of writing about Sebastian and in what way to do it. It’s so important to me. He was so important to me. This is a sobriety blog, and my sobriety is so closely entwined with every aspect of my life that I could never loosen just one thread. It informs everything I do. Everything I do is informed by it. It makes all things possible. So I’ve decided this does belong in my sobriety blog.
First a disclaimer. I realize that my writing is as close as some (few) people will ever get to someone with severe and multiple disabilities. The people I work with are some of the most extensively disabled on earth. It all became commonplace to me a long long time ago, since my mother worked with these folks beginning when I was five. I have not yet been disabled myself, although there’s every chance I could be as I age or get sick or suffer accidents. I had knee surgeries when I was a kid, but that’s as close as I’ve personally come.
There’s a danger when someone writes about a group of people, and especially a group of people who have disabilities, that the writer will make them less than human. And for my purpose right now, that’s doubly true. I’ve come to write about someone who died and died young, and whose main attribute during his life was the love showed and given. He was a person, fully, in every sense of the word, and he had faults like all of us do. I’m not really thinking about those now, though.
Every day I see people like Sebastian deal with more than I can ever imagine dealing with. These people vary in the ways that all people do, and some are smarter, nicer, prettier than others. I want me readers to understand that, and the very last thing I want to do is propetuate any kind of stereotype about people with disabilites. I’m going to come back later and write about Sebastian.