The picture was taken over two years ago. It was our last picture with Dooley, our camper van. It was taken before we had a dog. Before I had my hair cut short. Before my movement disorder specialist added to my diagnosis “advanced stage of Parkinson’s Disease”. It was when I still could walk unassisted by a walker, ride my recumbent trike, play guitar, and drive. It was before a back surgery compounded issues, when I could still type on a keyboard and write.
It was before Nan Little died. And captain Carl and John Carlin and Bruce and Butch and Steve and Mick and so many others…
So I found this picture and posted it as the BEFORE…shot. Before that thief Parkinson’s came back to see what more he could steal from me.
This last robbery was even harder than the initial diagnosis. I had let my guard down, and it almost took my joy . Actually, it almost took my soul.
Each loss hit me hard. Because of everything that was robbed from me I wondered what I would do with my time. Because I could do near to nothing without assistance I wondered how I would exist. Spiraling downward into darkness, a place I had never spent much time.
Then something changed. I learned to accept help.
With great gratitude I said “ yes” to whatever was offered. When I couldn’t use the computer I used the phone. I learned there were some small chores I could do, usually in the middle of the night, a better use of that awake time than fretting about not sleeping. And I felt like connecting with old friends..and going places…yeah…getting out of the house.
So the robber revisited me and stole a lot. But he doesn’t know where I hide my deepest treasures. I may lose more abilities, but he won’t ever steal the essence of me. Joy. It’s embedded too deeply.