This is my dad.

He is 69, and he has Parkinson's...

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A formal diagnosis came last month on November 16, 2023.

"Well I have Parkinson's (surprise) it won't go away," he group-texted me and my sisters.

We were already pretty sure at that point.

He had the symptoms. Shuffling feet. Inability to perform certain body movements. Difficulty projecting his voice. Some difficulty swallowing. Random moments of 'paralysis' while moving forward.

These were all signals.

He'd also had numerous falls while hiking his favorite trails. Some of them were pretty serious. His wife had watched him fall so hard it knocked him out. He woke up bleeding from the back of his head (which resulted in a trip to the hospital and some staples).

Signals.

When we flew together to visit my sisters in Minnesota, he fell on the escalator at the airport. He'd lost his balance and began to slowly topple, like a 6'2" tree, grasping far too slowly at the rails to stop himself.

I remember dropping our luggage and running to pick him up while bystanders watched, bug-eyed, as the unforgiving metal steps of the machine dragged his body upwards, feet first, head trailing below.

He tried to laugh it off when we got to the top -- but he was embarrassed, and bleeding.

Another signal.

By November, the diagnosis wasn't a surprise. It was a bittersweet confirmation; a blend of relief and sorrow. Relief that we finally were certain of the problem so he could start getting the help he needed -- and sorrow because of what we knew that meant.

I'm sure it hit my father's wife with a tidal wave of fears and endless questions about how the future would look. How it must have felt for her, knowing the strong man she loves will go through this difficult transformation -- and seeing the lingering cloud of potential futures take its terrible form as a weighty, concrete finality.

Truthfully, until that point, I think she'd been in denial. She'd been looking for other possible diseases and blaming my dad's back issues for his falls. This is justifiable considering the ramifications of the alternative.

Parkinson's Warrior

My dad, on the other hand (the strong man he is), had been studying up on the disease and had already begun to accept that it might be riding passenger for his remaining years on earth.

Now that he's gotten a diagnosis, he's been reading books like this one below ("Parkinson's Warrior") to stave off the disease as long as possible and hopefully extend his years and enhance their quality.

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At the core of it, I know in his heart, he just wants to give more of himself to his kids and wife. He wants to make sure we are okay. He wants to make sure we get the memories we need.

My dad is resilient that way. He has been his entire life. He spent 21 years in the military serving his country. He always taught me to "pull up my bootstraps," work hard and do my best in everything... and he's always led by example.

In his own life, he's faced things head on. From working hard to single parent me and my three sisters after my mother became lost in mental illness (paranoid schizophrenia) -- to putting himself through school while working 12 hour days so he could provide us with a future.

My dad has always been a rock.

He's always been strong -- mentally, spiritually, and especially physically. He stands 6' 2" tall, and for many of his years he ranged between 225 and 250 pounds of solid muscle.

In his Navy career, he started out slinging large metal all day in the bowels of air craft carriers. He worked out with the Navy Seals doing 3,000 crunches a day.

picture from Canva
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My sisters used to tell the other kids at school, "My dad can bench press the back of a Buick," which my dad thought was hilarious. They didn't find out till later that he was joking, although, the way he was back then I can see why all their friends believed it.

My childhood (especially when we lived in Montana) was spent hiking in the mountains. When I was 9 years old, I spent every weekend doing between 10–20 mile day-hikes in Glacier National Park and other places.

picture from Canva
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We'd travel up to Waterton Park or Banff (Canada-side) and summit peaks, camp, hike and fish. We visited the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, the Tetons and many other places, climbing to the top of everything we could.

For him, going through this disease means grieving all the things he won't be able to do with us. He's a fisherman and outdoorsman. He grew up on a farm. He's always been outside.

Below is a picture I took of him doing one of his favorite things:

My dad, reflecting and appreciating "...the beauty of creation..." as he would say.

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I took this picture while on a hike with him last week.

Fortunately, he's been on some medication that gives him relief, helps him have more control over his body and increases his mental clarity.

The caveat is, the medication is what causes Dyskinesia (the 'involuntary' shaking most people attribute to Parkinson's disease). I did not know this, but Dyskinesia isn't actually a symptom of PD -- but rather a side-effect of the medications used to delay it.

So while it appears this angel comes with a devil -- it's extending his ability to do the things he loves for now, and that's good.

A Pragmatic But Hopeful Future

On one side...

We know that someday, my dad is going to need care taking. This is really hard for him (and for us to see him wrestle with). He's a proud and independent man who takes care of others, so this is tough.

This might mean him moving to another state where our family can be together so we can pull together and be his support system, since his wife eventually won't be able to do it alone.

On the other side...

My dad is continuing to inspire us in the way he's fighting this beast. He is vigilantly performing an exercise regimen that makes the average active 20-year-old look lazy. Pushups, weights, exercise bike, resistance, you name it.

He's also seeing a speech therapist to help him strengthen his voice and improve his ability to swallow. I've watched him improve drastically over just the past few months in so many ways. He's falling less. He's speaking better. He's singing again (which he couldn't do)!

Even in the midst of this challenge, he is doing his best to thrive. His outlook, as he might say it, is that his desire is "...to bring glory to God in all things... even this."

His faith in God gives him hope that's eternal. He takes every opportunity to share his smile (knowing that PD eventually takes this away). In fact, I've never seen him smile so much.

I get choked up writing this. Looking at pictures of my dad. Remembering the countless hours that my 'little-boy-eyes' were branded with images of his flexing calf muscles as he led us further up the mountain.

I remember how I always tried to walk in his enormous foot prints... and how I tried to land my right foot at a slight angle, just like him...

So, while I may be saying goodbye to making more of these specific memories over these next few years -- I still have so many I'll carry with me forever.

He did that for me, and I'm so grateful.

And while the road ahead may take his physical strength -- and while it maybe be full of uncertainty -- I am sure of one thing:

I will always remember: my dad is a warrior.