Caring for my brother after his brain injury showed me a world of compassion

Seeing the hidden world of care, after my beloved brother's devastating accident, taught me about people's remarkable strength and grace

I often find myself thinking back to a fairly unremarkable afternoon in 2010. I was sitting in the day room of a care home while my older brother Miles slept beside me, in his wheelchair. Steve, one of the other severely brain-injured residents dotted around the room in wheelchairs, was in distress. His hands were up by his face in tight fists and he was weeping. Nothing anyone did to comfort or soothe him worked; the look on his contorted face was one of pure anguish.

And then, just as Miles was waking up, Steve's wife Natalia entered the room. Seeing her husband, she dropped her bags and ran to him, holding his face in her hands and covering it in kisses. Normally an outspoken and wonderfully foul-mouthed woman, she spoke now in gentle, incantatory whispers. I've never seen relief like the relief that flooded Steve's face; it spread over his face and even his limbs, his neck softening back into the headrest, hands uncurling. It was a moment of tenderness and care, but also such profound intimacy that I found myself turning away, as if I were intruding.