Bill Hicks felt like he'd accomplished his most cherished dream by the ripe old age of 23.
It was January 1992, and the kid with a keen sense of rhythm who loved nothing more than drumming was a full-time member of Vancouver's Powder Blues Band, a Juno Award-winning act with album sales in the hundreds of thousands and gigs galore.
Then a phone call from home at an odd hour changed his life forever.
His mother, with her voice cracking, told him his 16-year-old brother Kevin had been in a serious car crash.
Bill boarded a ferry and sailed home to Nanaimo immediately.
He sat at Kevin's bedside every day as he lay in a coma in a Victoria hospital. He would talk to Kevin and gently place headphones over his brother's ears so he could hear their favourite rock hits.
Kevin's awakening two months after the crash was the beginning of an extraordinary journey for the two brothers, both drummers, who would become caregiver and patient for the next four years.
Bill drumming
Bill Hicks was the drummer for the Powder Blues Band. (CBC)
Bill moved into his family home, where his mother was dying of cancer and his brain-injured brother now had the mentality of a seven-year-old. He didn't know how to help his brother but he was determined to find the best way possible.
Kevin had to start from scratch. His big brother Bill would feed him and bathe him during the day while playing music at night to pay the bills.

Many end up on the streets

People with brain injuries are often described as the walking wounded because they appear normal but in some cases their behaviour can shift from serene to dangerous in an instant. Anger can follow some of them like an evil spirit as they lash out when simple tasks like cooking are too much to handle. They often don't understand what they don't understand.
The statistics tell the story: 45% of homeless men in Canada are brain injured, and a study of Ontario's prison population found 50% of the men had suffered a brain injury before being incarcerated.
Emergency care following a car crash or aneurysm, for example, is often brilliant, but what happens in the years that follow is too often a slow journey into trouble, poverty and hopelessness. There is a lack of specialized facilities to help them adjust to their new circumstances.
Bill's awareness of the problem combined with his brother's progress inspired him to pursue a new life's dream: to create a facility dedicated to helping people with brain injuries to lead fulfilling lives. 
"I'd been playing music and I was looking for something else in my life," Bill said. "I was looking to add something. And when I got into this field, and I started working and being around people in the caregiving industry, just loving that and motivating people to help themselves."
He founded Bill's Place in 1996. Today, the private facility has grown to a cluster of seven homes in a pleasant Nanaimo neighbourhood that houses up to 20 brain-injured adults with the help of 18 staffers.
"I wanted to create something that I would be happy having my brother live at," Bill said.
Iron Chef judging
The judges for the recent Iron Chef challenge at Bill's Place. (CBC)
Late one recent weekday morning, Bill gathered the residents in the living room of one of the homes.
Teams of four stood together as Bill announced it was Iron Chef day and each team would compete to prepare the best Asian meal for lunch.
He stood in front of the group and pumped up their enthusiasm and encouraged them to have fun and be creative.
He's convinced these moments of social connection are key to healing.
At the core of his business model is his passionate belief that the brain-injured need to be treated like people, not patients. Bill's Place tries to discover the abilities and passions of its residents.
Yvonne Studley, or Vuv as she prefers to be called, moved into Bill's Place five months ago. She's a funny lady but her story is anything but.
Six years ago, she slammed into a moose on a northern B.C. highway. When she came to a month later in a Vancouver hospital, she'd lost most of her sight, some of her hearing, and had no sense of smell or taste.
"To be told I could never work again, that was just a crushing blow, devastating for me" she said.
Devastating too were the years following her release from hospital: living alone, unable to cook or shower herself, with family members blaming her for invisible injuries they didn't understand.
All that changed when she moved to Bill's Place.
Vuv Smiling
Yvonne Studley, or Vuv as she prefers to be called, moved into Bill's Place five months ago and says she's regained her sense of humour after years of struggle. (CBC)
"Vuv is back because I'm getting my sense of humour back," she said.
Sarah, her caregiver, escorted her onto the local outdoor street hockey rink, where she dropped the puck for their monthly Hockey Day in Canada scrimmage. Vuv's routine is now a mix of social gatherings, some dog therapy — staff discovered her love of dogs — and helping the others cook meals.
"It's a life. A journey I'm going to enjoy. I'm going to enjoy it. And I know there are limitations."
faceoff
Vuv drops the puck for their monthly Hockey Day in Canada scrimmage. (CBC)
If Vuv seems really delighted it's because this week she managed to taste her food for the first time since her crash.
Each of Bill's residents has a similar story of tragedy and struggle to find a meaningful life.
It's been twenty years since Bill's brother Kevin suddenly awoke from his coma, looked over at Bill and grabbed for a banana Bill was eating.

'Happy with who they are'

"If gaining independence and getting back into their life is where they want to go, we'll figure that out and we'll assess and we'll support people gradually gaining those skills," Bill said. "A lot of other people, they're where they are now and so maybe it's enriching their life. Maybe it's having new life experiences. I always say, these people have a brain injury, not a spirit injury."
The highlight of the afternoon hockey game sees Bill pass the ball to Kevin who snaps a shot past a caregiver nurse who's playing goal. She smiled and watched as Bill high-fived Kevin. The fact that Kevin is walking again, living independently, and back behind the drums is the real victory.
So, too, is the fact Kevin's recovery inspired a model of care for others.
"Ultimately," Bill says, "it's not based on getting our guys through the program, it's getting them to be happy with who they are."