I think my father was the most courageous man I have known. He was diagnosed with Altzheimer's in his seventies and he lived into his mid eighties. Imagine, when he was first diagnosed, he knew and understood what would happen to him in the future; yet, he never complained; never even spoke about it. He just went bravely into, what he later described as "hell".
When I think of my possible future, I think of my father. If he could resist fear, so can I. If he could endure, so will I. There is no better role model. I can deal with any fear that PD might throw at me, just by thinking about my dad.
I am the master of my fate.
I have essentially been tremor free for a couple of weeks. What a relief to feel normal! Yesterday however, I went to a funeral for a man I held in very high esteem. It wasn't terribly sad because he had lived a long and fascinating life. Originally, he was from Texas. He came to Canada to play football back in 1950 and quickly became one of the best players ever to play here. He settled in Canada but always claimed to be a citizen of 3 countries, Canada, USA, and the Republic of Texas. The event was a celebration of his life. Why then did I have to leave early when my hand would not keep still in spite of the drugs?!
It seems to have calmed down this morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment