My body tries to convince my mind almost on a daily basis what my heart refuses to acknowledge: I AM GETTING OLDER. No, I can no longer run and I don’t walk at the pace that I used to even though it’s still a pretty good clip, and coming downstairs. . . Oh my, please turn away, and shield all small children from the sight; It’s not a vision that any eyes, young or old should ever have to witness. I don’t or can’t eat like I used to or else. . .And bodily functions, well now let’s not get too graphic, after all, it is a family oriented, kind of a blog, but. . .and here’s the thing, it’s not just me, Erin is in that boat that we’re trying to navigate, and yes, at times it takes all four hands and our achy backs to row, but it’s in unison and provides a TOGETHERNESS that feels like soft flannel just out of the dryer on cold nights but experienced more richly than ever in our 40 years together and now even more so when I read and share with you THIS:
💔 The Day Alan Alda Learned He Had Parkinson’s — And the Promise His Wife Refused to Break
Alan Alda remembers every detail of that afternoon in 2015.
The doctor had just said the words no one ever wants to hear:
“Parkinson’s.”
Alan didn’t cry.
He didn’t speak.
He just went home, sat in his favorite chair, and stared at his trembling hands.
A moment later, Arlene walked in.
“Alan… what did the doctor say?”
He looked up.
“Parkinson’s.”
Silence filled the room — heavy, terrifying, real.
Alan whispered, “I don’t want you to carry this. You’re almost 80. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”
Arlene didn’t hesitate.
She lowered herself to her knees — slow, painful, but determined.
“Listen to me,” she said softly.
“Sixty-seven years ago, I promised I’d stay with you in sickness and in health. I didn’t say those words for decoration. I meant them.”
Alan blinked hard.
“You knew this day would come?”
“I knew we’d grow old,” she said. “And I chose to grow old with you. Parkinson’s doesn’t change that. Nothing changes that.”
For the first time since the diagnosis, Alan broke.
He covered his face and cried into the hands that had held scalpels on MAS*H, scripts on Broadway, and Arlene’s fingers for nearly seven decades.
“I’m scared,” he admitted.
Arlene took his shaking hands, kissed them, and whispered:
“I’m scared too.
But I’m not scared of the disease.
I’m scared you’ll think I’ll ever leave your side.
And I won’t. Not now… not ever.”
That night, Alan finally slept — not because the fear was gone, but because Arlene had reminded him of something stronger:
See–Love doesn’t disappear when the body trembles.
Love holds tighter. . .
Sometimes this Advent and Christmas Season, we will be lighting a candle, symbolizing LOVE. Now to be sure, it’s a candle that once lit will flicker and offer a small, beautiful glow and a comforting warmth, but it will be extinguishable. . .so very much unlike the dearest, sincerest, warmest–the most vulnerable love that we carry around in sickness and in health, to love and a cherish, all the days of our lives and just a tad bit more of eternity following. . .
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