Dear George,
I enjoyed meeting you the other day at Jo’s Coffee. Thanks for treating me.
I’m sorry that Parkinson’s introduced us—I’d rather have met you while shopping at Whole Foods or REI! But here we are, both of us traveling on Parkinson’s Road, and I’m surely happy that we are traveling it together.
You mentioned feeling sad about what Parkinson’s is taking from you, including your balance and the ability to sleep as you once did. I think I understand that sadness, as I have felt it myself. Sometimes, I still do. And I can definitely empathize with you when it comes to a lack of sleep. It’s a constant struggle for me, too. I can thank Parkinson’s for that.
I want to share with you something else that I can thank Parkinson’s for.
It’s the fall of 2015, more than a year before I would be diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and my young daughters, Meredith and Holly, my wife Tracey, and I are having dinner in our kitchen. “Something’s burning,” Holly says. “I smell it too,” says Meredith. What they smelled and I didn’t—couldn’t—was our clothes dryer on fire. The following fall, I would discover my inability to smell most things, just as many people do in the earliest periods of life with Parkinson’s.
Before I lost the ability to smell I didn’t think much about it. The same goes for getting enough sleep. Sure, I appreciated a solid 7-8 hours, just as I know you do. I also welcomed the pleasant smells of Mountain Laurel in the spring, my wife’s fresh-baked cookies, and lavender shampoo on my young daughters’ wet hair, to name a few.
But I didn’t treasure them.
Savor them.
Long for them.
I never found myself with closed eyes, concentrating intensely, and remembering those scents so vividly that I could almost smell them.
Now I do and almost is as close as I get.
You said it well, George. “Parkinson’s is a taker.” It takes from you what you have come to value if not to treasure—movement, comfort, living free of pain, joy, calm, SLEEP, and more.
I miss being able to smell those good smells like I once did. I also miss sleeping soundly through the night.
But here is what I want you to know, George.
It’s because I miss these things that there are many more things I don’t miss.
I don’t miss an opportunity to watch the sunrise on the glassy lake with my friend Mat as we prepare for a morning of wake surfing.
I don’t miss early morning phone calls with my pal, Jim, just to check-in.
I don’t miss taking a ride with Holly, who has recently begun driving, and talking about school, cheer, basketball, or friends.
I don’t miss having deep conversations with Meredith about college applications and the ACT, or listening to her sing an Etta James song with her School of Rock friends, or going with her on a late-night run for ice cream or donuts.
I try my best not to miss any of that.
I also try not to miss an opportunity to tell a colleague how much I appreciate them.
I try not to miss opportunities to say “I’m sorry for hurting you and it won’t happen again.”
And I try not to miss moments of gratitude that come with lying in bed next to my partner of over 32 years and feeling as if it were only yesterday that it all began with that chance encounter in Boston.
Parkinson’s has given me an awareness of what not to miss in my life.
Let’s get together again next Saturday morning at Jo’s.
Coffee is on me!
Sincerely,
Allan