A car that skids must be steered back onto the straight path with gentle hands. Over the years, I've learned to find balance—navigating the rough terrain of my own feelings—and to understand the conflicting emotions my brother has always stirred in me. It isn't easy to live swinging between love and hate, between understanding and judgment, facing a storm of doubt every two weeks. That's no way to live. Growing up, my fears and fragility transformed into strength, and this has helped me enormously in my relationship with him.
I'm Daniele, twenty-four years old, and I'm Pablo's brother. Pablo has cerebral palsy and intellectual disability. Our relationship is made of small moments of complicity, big arguments, long stretches of quiet—often peaceful, and worth more than a thousand words.
When we're alone at home—those rare evenings when our parents go out—we have a great time. A kind of natural ease settles in, an equal footing that satisfies us both. The schedule becomes loose. We eat later. Pablo gets a few extra minutes of music. As his brother, I can still get him to listen to me; though it gets harder for me over time. What's the best way to be okay with him?
When we're alone, Pablo is at his best. We're good together. With the whole family around, he becomes unbearable. That's why I'd rather spend ten days alone with him than five with everyone together. When I was little, I was ashamed to bring friends home when my brother was there. Now what bothers me most isn't his presence—it's my parents always letting him be the center of attention, no matter what. Alone with me and my friends, Pablo knows his place. He speaks seriously and doesn't hijack the evening with repetitive talk.
I'm convinced that joy often hides within suffering, and I'm grateful Pablo gave me eyes to find it. Unfortunately, I can't always share that joy with him—with everyone else, yes; with him, no. Maybe my fear is groundless. I often think our ways of communicating are different from the usual ones, based less on words and more on simple presence, even when we spend all day in separate rooms. There are periods when he ignores me completely. He doesn't even say hello when he gets home from school. But the moment he sees my bed is empty in the evening, he starts asking: "Where's Daniele?"
- Daniele Ozzimo, 1996