It's been over a year since my father's death. In that time, I've struggled to remember him as a well person. He was healthy for my first 45 years of life and yet, hard as I try, I cannot reimagine him as whole. So dramatic was the scenery of his decline, it infected the memories that were amassed underneath.
My husband was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease just after he turned 40. A talented long-distance runner and veteran of many first-place race finishes and successful marathons, he was an extremely athletic and healthy man. When his foot started to drag and a tremor found its way into his left arm and hand, I somehow knew he had this disease but had no idea just what the implications might be.