Personal Essay
When I walk slowly, I get a little out of breath compared to what I can expect after a very short run. There's no two ways about it, I need to get in better shape if I can keep up with my dad and his walking companions. Of course, this little run was a bit unexpected so perhaps my sudden fatigue is the result of my body not receiving a full notice that its services are needed. And it was late afternoon in late July in downtown Florida, so the sun was hot and it felt like I was sucking warm soup with every breath instead of air.
My dad moved again. There was a rocket launch scheduled for 6:24, so he slipped out of bed, out the front door, down the street, and around the corner before anyone noticed. When I found him after a few minutes of frantic searching, he was halfway down the road. Pushing his gray Walker, his four wheels. Moving quickly, if erratically, as he jogged and taunted.
I chased him down. Stopping a few steps to his right in the middle of the empty street, taking a few deep breaths and sending a small wave towards him.
I said.
I never knew exactly how to approach a conversation in these situations. It's a pretty unique social script. What does one say when chasing after the father of someone with Parkinson's and shouldn't be wandering the neighborhood alone?
"Where are you going?"
That seems like a good choice as any.
Well, look at that! My dad replied. His tone indicated this was a nonsensical question. Where else would he go? Verbal communication has never been the foundation of our father-son relationship and it only gets worse as his Parkinson's deepens.
As we established the reason for this amusement, we continued down the street, my dad hunched over, pushing the walker forward at a pace that left me huffing and puffing. By the time the evening storm had swept through an hour earlier.