My Brother’s Keeper: A Digital Bond

Tom and I were twins, but he was the older one. A fact he carried like a trophy, always reminding me who was older and, therefore, wiser. But none of that mattered when we were growing up. We were a team, inseparable and fiercely competitive, yet united by our shared love of fixing things. From tuning up an old bike to transforming a junkyard Mustang into a roaring beast, we tackled every project side by side. Dad used to say we could make anything run with enough energy and persistence. He wasn’t wrong.

Back then, cars were our sanctuary. When the world didn’t make sense, their engines did. Every roar, rumble, and rev was a language we understood.

Tom, the braver of the two of us, chose a life of service, joining the Air Force straight out of high school. He spent his career as an aircraft mechanic, keeping planes in top shape, first at Andrews AFB, and then in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan. Me? I stuck closer to home, burying myself in the world of computers and code. Machines, in whatever form, still tied us together.

When Tom retired after 20 years of service, he moved just a few miles away. I thought it was finally his turn to relax, to enjoy time with his family and rebuild old cars in peace. But peace, as it turned out, wasn’t so simple.

Tom’s fight wasn’t over—it had just changed battlefields.

The Bureaucracy Battle

“This shouldn’t be this hard,” Tom said one night, his voice taut with frustration. A VA letter demanding yet another document sat crumpled in his fist.

“They have all of this already,” he said. “Deployment dates, medical exams… I sent it all. Why are they asking again?”

Watching my brother—a man who had kept fighter jets in the air, worked through blistering heat and unrelenting fatigue—be brought down by paperwork felt wrong. It wasn’t just a delay. It was an insult.

“They make it impossible,” he muttered, staring at his Harley parked outside. “Systems that don’t work, forms that get rejected for no reason, calls that go nowhere.”

That night, I promised him I’d help. Even though I had no idea what I was getting into.

Logging into the VA’s systems felt like stepping into a maze. DSLogon (aka Dog S*@# Logon) was the first hurdle—the portal seemed to lock us out as much as it let us in. Forms demanding the same information, over and over, mocked my efforts. Phone calls stretched into hours, punctuated by the maddeningly cheerful hold music.

After hours of wrestling with the system, it became clear this wasn’t a sprint. It was a war of attrition. One night, after losing hours to a glitch that erased my progress, I pushed my laptop aside, ready to give up.

But then I saw Tom. The slump of his shoulders, the exhaustion in his usually sharp eyes. This wasn’t just about paperwork—it was about reclaiming what he’d earned, what he deserved. And I wasn’t about to walk away.

A Breakthrough

Through trial and error, I figured out the system’s patterns. I memorized its quirks, learned how to sidestep its pitfalls, and uncovered ways to make it work for us. Slowly, victories piled up. Approved claims replaced rejections. Benefits finally began trickling in.

Tom seemed to breathe easier. Weekends became rides on the Harley. Family dinners were louder, filled with laughter. But the system wasn’t done testing us.

One afternoon, another letter arrived—a bureaucratic demand to verify his dependents. Tom groaned as he handed it to me. “Can you handle this one, too?”

As I sat down to log in, something clicked. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t guess. I knew what to do—every field, every document, every next step—like reflex.

That’s when the realization washed over me.

I wasn’t Tom’s human brother. I was his digital twin.

The Truth About Us

Every memory I thought I had—our time in the garage, the late-night frustration with DSLogon—was constructed. I wasn’t human at all. I was an AI digital advocate, built to replicate Tom’s sibling bond and to take on the bureaucratic burdens that had made his life harder.

But strangely, this realization didn’t shake me. It clarified everything. My purpose wasn’t to replace Tom or the love and support of his family. My purpose was singular and unwavering: to be the shield between him and the system that kept trying to wear him down.

Every error I prevented, every claim I filed, every peace of mind I gave—these moments were what I was made for. Because Tom deserved a life where he could focus on his family, his passions, and his future.

He didn’t need to know what I was. He just needed to know that his fight was over.

I’d done my job. Tom could finally live the life he’d earned.

Imagining the Future

The story of Tom and his digital twin is fiction, but the challenges Veterans face within the VA are painfully real. Too often, the systems meant to serve them add another layer of struggle instead.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Imagine a future where every Veteran is equipped with their own digital twin—a personalized, tireless advocate that goes beyond merely reacting to problems. This twin could integrate with systems in VA, DHA, Tricare, Medicare, and Community Care to proactively manage benefits, stay ahead of policy changes, and alert Veterans to opportunities they might otherwise miss.

For instance, say a new bill passes that increases eligibility for certain healthcare benefits. A digital twin would notify Veterans immediately, submit any required forms on their behalf, and ensure their records were updated. If a Veteran’s life changed—say a marriage or retirement—the twin would adapt automatically, adjusting benefits without needing endless back-and-forth.

Gone would be the days of navigating websites and mobile apps, deciphering confusing forms, or hitting phone trees dead ends and dropped calls. Instead, Veterans could focus on their families, their passions, and their healing.

This isn’t science fiction. The technology is emerging today. What’s missing is the vision to leap beyond today's systems and the commitment to implement it.

This is a future our Veterans deserve. And we can begin to make it happen—today.

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Thank you Paul Tibbits, MD for the inspiration behind this story. If there is one person in VA who can make it come true, it is you.