I was adopted in 1945; the following year my brother Peter, and five years after that, a sister, Karla, joined our family in the same way. Peter was crippled at birth by cerebral palsy and then in early adolescence developed epilepsy and schizophrenia, from which he never recovered. In spite of his disabilities, I loved my brother dearly. He was My Man Friday. Later, Karla was afflicted with bipolar disorder, learning disorder and drug addiction. Growing up surrounded by physical handicaps, psychological instability and addiction, I believed this was a perfectly normal family. How my middle class, educated and devoted parents dealt with these issues is addressed much differently today. However, the search for the metaphorical bridge to healing is not.
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