<H1>REQUIEM</H1>

I went to Brian's remembrance service. It was held in a plain, but elegant, old church in the town of Ladner. My brother and I arrived early and sat outside at a nearby coffee shop, watching the living go by about their business. We passed the time discussing the virtue (brother) and non-virtue (me) of Bill C51. We were at a stalemate and so we drifted down to the church. We met old friends and sat down to listen to the eulogy(s)and I got choked up but held back any tears. The service ended and we went to another room for refreshments and there it started. The PD monster stood by my shoulder and try as I might, I could not repel it as it took over my body. My mouth became the Sahara and my tongue swelled, making talking a difficulty. My words began to slur and join together but I was determined that on this day, I would suffer through the struggle and join the conversation while swaying, a sure sign that PD was winning the battle. Little did I know what lay ahead on this, the worst day of my PD journey.

We decided to join the family at Brian's home. I was amazed at the back yard with its pergola, ponds and waterfalls. Amazed because I had just learned of another talent of Brian's. He had built all of them. Such talent!

Old friends and new gathered around and again I entered the conversation, forgetting familiar words and substituting simple synonyms and even those I stumbled over. The swaying period grew until I had to hold onto to a leg of the pergola. Nonetheless, I was enjoying seeing and talking (?) to friends, a couple of whom I had not seen for 40 years. I would have stayed, but my brother suggested, quite forcefully, that it was time to leave. What could I do? It was his car, and so we left. On the way to the car I stumbled and weaved, like a drunk trying to walk a straight line.

The next day I was fine. What caused this disastrous day? Could it have been the change of time zones? the length of time standing? a lack of sleep? a change in climate? I think it was a combination of some or all of those but I feel the main component was a touch of grief. Brian's brother Bruce had given a moving eulogy complete with a video showing him and Brian, along with Ken, making some beautiful music which showcased Brian singing. I was incredulous. I had never heard him sing before. He had written the words and music and his voice, combined with some falsetto from Bruce made for a perfect score. The only problem was, it brought a lump to my throat and I wished I had seen more of him and his brother in the past 20 years.

It had been a celebration of his life and I will remember our youth forever and his dry sense of humor will become the stuff of stories.

As for parkinson's, it won that skirmish but I hope I will fight it to my death, with the help of the scientists working for a cure. A little hope can be an illness but the cure for it is to hope more, not less. In fact, hope all the time. That will become my mantra.

To Brian, I hope you have found peace. In the words of Robert Louis Stevenson:

UNDER the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you 'grave for me:
Here he lies where he long'd to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

Rest easy old friend. Until we meet again.