Losing someone close is always painful, but parting with a younger sibling brings a different kind of sorrow. Reflecting on my brother’s life reminds me how society labels people—and how words shape the way we see them.
Saying a final goodbye to someone dear, knowing you will never meet again, is deeply lonely.
I have experienced such farewells many times before, but parting with my younger brother feels different.
For my mother, it is a gyakuen—a child passing before the parent—and her grief must be far greater than mine.
Even so, she often said, “He must go before I do.”
As a mother, perhaps she now feels a kind of quiet relief.
People with Down syndrome can live fulfilling lives when supported by those around them.
From that perspective, they are sometimes described as “socially vulnerable.”
But why “vulnerable”?
And why do we still use the word “disability” so casually?
In the pathology department, I am responsible for what used to be called the “employment program for people with disabilities.”
Each time I said those words, I felt a subtle discomfort.
Recently, the name was changed to “Support Team,” and in that sense I feel relieved.
From now on, I can simply say, “This is the work of our Support Team.”
Yet when someone asks, “What is the Support Team?” I will inevitably find myself using the word “disability” to explain.
The path toward better language—and better understanding—still feels long.
