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William George Luke
b. March 15, 1960
Resident of H.R.C. for 42 years
If there is a silver lining to this upheaval created by McGuinty and company, it’s that Billy, my younger brother
Robbie, Mom, Dad and I came together on October 30, 2004 for the first family photo in one hell of a long time.
Included in our Christmas card this year, from Mom, was one of those pictures of us three brothers. On the back
Mom had written “our three sons”. I started humming that theme song and envisioning the opening animation of
tapping feet to that 60’s Fred MacMurray sitcom, “My Three Sons”.
As long as I can recall, I remember the car ride up to Orillia via Highway 12 from Oshawa. It seemed to be a
desolate ride through the countryside that seemingly took forever and near impossible in the winter if snow
squalls were blowing off Georgian Bay. Not much has changed to the highway except for bumper-to-bumper
traffic heading for Rama or the cottage.
I remember happy times of visiting here. The place was a huge buzz of activity with literally hundreds of residents
and tons of activities. I recall participating in fun times with Billy, when he was more functional. Do you recall the
residents who ran the farm, who skated, played hockey on the outdoor rink, helped with janitorial duties to keep
the place ship shape? I recall more fondly the most cheerful, helpful and lovable residents who would go to no
end to show you the way, hold the door or just to say hello. I remember one fellow with a small transistor AM radio
that was always listening to a hockey game. I wish that Billy were as able as these fellows. Christmas time here
was always a mixed emotion for me. While you loved how the place was so beautifully decorated to the nines by
staff and residents with everything that reminds you of Christmas, I knew Christmas morning, Billy would be still
here and I’d be opening my presents at home. Still I have fond memories of Christmas at H.R.C., and this may
sound weird, but it was like coming home to visit for the holidays for me.
As a child and even still today I find myself lost for explanation as to who Billy is, what his condition is and what or
where is H.R.C. Well of course, Billy is my older brother and …and, and he’s pretty much a vegetable. I hate
myself for thinking or saying that. Try to explain it to one of your school friends. “Well if you really do have an
older brother then why haven’t we seen him? ha ha ‘cause he’s a retard.” So-called friends can be so cruel.
Even today, the older ones don’t seem to be any better, “Well I never knew you had an older brother (go figure)
and what’s this H.R.C. place, is it like Penetanguishene or Whitby Psychiatric Hospital? That’s a shame. What did
he do to get in there?” The truth of the matter is, that very few people in this province even know of the
existence of centres like Huronia and their purpose, our family members in them and the degree of their
disabilities. This is no more apparent then if you were ask McGuinty and Pupatello directions to Orillia, for you see
it’s nowhere close to Ottawa or Windsor. Nor do they know my brother, Billy.
I’ve seen my mom cry when she thought I wasn’t watching, when the discussion centered on Billy. You see, as I
understand it, it didn’t have to be this way at all… I mean Billy should have never been here to start with, except
for the so-called doctor that couldn’t diagnose a series of multiple uncontrolled epileptic seizures in a 1-year-old
baby, how tragic. In the 1960’s you didn’t question the doctor and you sure as hell didn’t sue him for negligent
malpractice. Pity he’s not still alive. I often thought about what kind of trouble the three Luke brothers, just 4
years separating youngest to oldest, could have gotten into. Often thought about, never to be known. I guess I
dream of that type of bosom buddy three brother situation because my brother Robbie and I never quite had that
relationship or saw eye to eye on that level. We still don’t today but there’s nothing wrong with that, however it
would have been a lot nicer growing up watching each others back instead of fighting much of the time like we
did. Billy would have made a difference. I just know it. I sometimes feel robbed of my brother and I want to blame
someone.
My Dad doesn’t say a whole lot about anything, but I know there’s a lot of pain bottled up there, like my Mom. I’ve
shed a few tears myself over the years, usually when no one else is around or in bed late at night. At one time or
another I think I wished Billy would quietly pass on one night. End his suffering, I hate myself again for ever
thinking that. I often think what will eventually become of Billy. He’ll outlive my parents, and I’m preparing myself
and proud to accept responsibility for Billy when this happens. He’ll probably outlive all of us with the exceptional
care he receives at H.R.C. and Soldiers’ Memorial down the road. Ever since Billy broke his hip three years ago I
feel that I’ve taken up my brother’s cause or defense; it’s time to relieve some of the burden and worry from my
Mom and Dad. They deserve that at least. When I received the word that Billy had broken his hip, I rushed to
Soldiers’ Memorial as soon as I could. Upon finding Billy’s room, a woman whom I didn’t know was standing
beside Billy’s bed, consoling him. She was one of Billy’s councilors from H.R.C. taking the time to check on Billy,
on her own time. She was Donna Tomlinson as you see this level of dedication and care will never be seen from
what the Liberals have in store. Thank you Donna.
If Billy could stand, I think he’d be taller than my 6’-4”. However the biggest difference in us would be his thin rail
stance and my overweight tree trunk. Billy is isolated from the junk that we eat, not malnutrition. Like I said, he’s
in better shape. Besides the copious battle scars on Billy’s face from his explosive seizures and the empty look in
his eyes, Billy is quite normal in appearance. However, some days he looks like he came out on the bad end of 12
rounds with Ali. What’s beneath the skin and bone is quite a different story. I’d compare it to a black hole in deep
outer space. A short circuitry of the nebula phazon connections in a vast, empty, dark, void space. Nothing in,
nothing out. Kind of like the computer that isn’t plugged in right or a CPU that has had a meltdown. I distinctly
remember one day watching Billy trying to drink from the bottom of a Coke bottle, if that helps to put into
perspective his degree of disability. I don’t know if he realizes that I am his brother when I do visit. Maybe he’s
all there in that empty void and he’s trying to get out, but we don’t see or hear him. It’s all a bad dream, and
suddenly I awake, and I don’t realize for a second what’s real anymore either.
What does the future hold for Billy and our family, who knows? We will continue to fight, I hope and pray. We will
not allow Billy to be placed in some retrofitted Community Care motel, ill equipped, run by profit driven Board of
Directors and a Government subsidized failure. The truth is, as far as we have been led to believe, this is the only
plan up the Government’s sleeve, invariably driven by the need to cut costs, nothing else. The Government’s
excuse that this will be better for Billy and my family, how dare they tug at our heartstrings and play that trump
card on us! “Mr. McGuinty, Ms. Pupatello, you don’t know anything about my brother or H.R.C.!” “Come on Billy,
Robbie, the Luke brothers are mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore.”
Take care, Billy. Love Danny
L-R Danny, Billy, Robbie
