Black Dog, Revisited

Today I need to vent, just a bit, so if you're not in the mood to listen to me whine, feel free to leave. I've had a few people ask me about reference to The Black Dog. Depression has been referred to as The Black Dog. That's all, The Black Dog = depression. I fight with it pretty much daily. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, that's just the way it is.

Everyday, I have to watch the strongest man in the world, fight to try to do the little things that most of us take for granted. And every day, the strongest man in the world fails (in his eyes, never in mine) to do most of these things. And he knows it. You can see it in his eyes, and he knows it. He knows that he should be able to figure out the little things, he knows he used to be able to do it, and he knows he can't. And he knows that we consider it necessary that someone be with him all the time, and it surely burns away at his pride and ego to know that we consider him to be "incapable".

Yet, he still fights. Every day. To be the man he used to be. To be the man who is not confused by little things, like where to put the leaves he just finished raking. Stuff like that. Any why can't he get the lawnmower started, or which terminal to put the battery charger on.

And every day, we watch as he gives up the fight just a bit more, and falls into his hole. And every day, we have to figure out new ways to hold him up, to help him fight. To keep him going. To be the person he would want to be if he could.

And the next day it starts all over again. Some days are good, some are bad. I used to think it was the weather, it doesn't seem to matter. I used to think it was whether or not people were around, but that doesn't seem to matter either. We all have good days and bad days, that's just the way it is.

And every day I thank God for the incredible support system we (my mother, daughter, and I) have. For the phone calls from other family members, checking not only on the strongest man in the world but also on us. For the endless doctors who take our questions and treat us like we're the only patients in the world. For a husband who always asks how my day was, and if it was crappy, I can tell him that, and he listens. He knows he can't fix it, all he can do is listen, and he does. Even when I forget to ask him how his day went. For the friends and co-workers who hold us up in their own way, to give us a bit more strength so that in turn, we can give it back to him. And especially, I thank God for the strongest man in the world, who has taught me so much about living, loving, and life. There's still so much to learn, I will soak up every little bit I can while I can. And I sincerely hope, that if it's ever my turn to face this kind of insurmountable struggle, that I can do it with the same amount of dignity and grace and strength.

I love you Dad, but I hate Parkinson's.