April 10, 2011. Dear Pop

Dear Pop:


It occurs to me that 3 weeks from today is your 85th Birthday. We haven’t spoken in a while so I thought that I would bring you up to speed.

Every time I see a old Schwinn bicycle, I think that you’re sending me a message. It’s very comforting to know that you watch over us. I remember when you sold the stores. First the Sporting Goods store, then the Bike shop. You first offered it to each one of us. You were secretly glad that we said no. I don’t know how much you loved working there. I think that I loved the idea that my Dad owned a Toy Store, Sporting Goods Store and Bicycle Shop.

You never particularly liked sports, but there you were next to us and The Ranger games and later The Islander Games. Fast asleep. I tell a story about those days. There are 17,250 people at Madison Square Garden, screaming at the top of their lungs. You’re snoring. Suddenly you awaken, and say, “That was some play!” Michael says, “Dad, that was the Zamboni.” Only three people know that this is a canard. But when the rumor becomes fact, print the rumor. Anyway, I think that you’d get a kick out of it.

I remember as a kid wanting to have a catch with you. Before that day, I’m not sure that you had ever thrown a baseball in your life. You took out an expensive, Wally Bunker, Rawlings mitt from the store, and we had a catch. You weren’t bad. It meant a lot to me.

Every January we’d go to the trade shows. I know meeting Mantle, Mays, Aaron and Brooks Robinson among many others didn’t mean much to you, but you knew how much it meant to us. Because of what it meant to us, you enjoyed it.

As years went on, your love of family didn’t change. 10 years ago, I had 4 tickets to a Friday Night Yankee game. Of course one went to Michael, another to your granddaughter. We told her to choose a friend for the fourth ticket. She chose you. You hadn’t been on a subway for 30 years. (We took the 7 train to the 1969 World Series.) When she asked you graciously went. In the Fourth Inning, I looked over, and there you were, asleep.

I look in the mirror and I see your face. I wish that I had more of you. You used to say, “watch your words, you can’t take them back when they’re out there.” I know that you had a sarcastic sense of humor. You knew when to restrain it. I don’t always know. I’d like to learn to restrain my tongue.

Yours was a special generation. No hyperbole, but it truly was the greatest generation. Like many veterans of you generation, you first supported the Viet Nam war. Later you became vehemently opposed to the war, and all subsequent wars.

You may have been the most educated, informally educated, person that I’ve ever meet. You never went to college, I'm not sure if you graduated from High School. But if asked, I'd respond that my Dad was well educated.

You never were an enthusiastic writer, however. When I traveled Europe in the summer of 1976, I kept sarcastically writing and thanking you for his long letters. Until one day a letter finally came. I found in it 2 feet of toilet paper, with the words on the top Dear Marc, and at the bottom, here's your long letter, Love Dad.

I know that you worry about us, but don’t. You left us quite a legacy. Each other. My Parkinson’s has developed very slowly. I may be more functional today then I was when we last spoke.

Mom is great. You had great taste in women. My brother, my sister and your four grandchildren, follow your example of loyalty and love.

It’s been almost three years. I miss you dearly, but I’m not sad. I’m very satisfied with our relationship. We spoke frankly with each other and I know, just as I hope that you did, that we love each other.

I hope that you don’t mind if I write again. Please write back, I’m low on toilet paper.

Love,


Marc

January 22, 2011. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

" Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

I've always questioned how a man who knew that he was dying, could express such a thought. Yet Lou Gehrig saw the big picture. I believe that Gehrig probably appreciated what he had before he was diagnosed with ALS. It took Parkinson's for me to appreciate how good my life has been. I don't mean that in a comparative way. It's still good.

This is a tough world. I was born to a middle class family in Queens, NY. not the poverty of Cuba. The nearest thing to hunger that I've felt was an empty box of Mallomars, not the hunger of an African child. A disaster, to me,r is when the Yankees miss the playoffs, not an earthquake in Haiti.

Prior to PD, I was unappreciative of what life had given me. Up through today, I've been egocentric. Maybe PD was natures way of saying, "Hey Schmuck, you're not alone." As you know, I signed up too walk for PD research. I'm walking in Central Park on April 16. I had initially set a goal of raising $1,000.00. We passed that the first day, so I raised it to $2,500.00. We passed that on the fifth day. We're now closing in on $3,000.00. I'm overwhelmed by my friends and family. It's odd that it took something like Parkinson's to make me fully appreciate how lucky I am.

It's a small step, No pun intended, but it's a beginning. It's my beginning.

"So I close in saying that I may have had a tough break, but I have an awful lot to live for."

January 12, 2011. The Thesaurus is not a Dinosaur

Perhaps the aspect of Parkinson's Disease that bothers me most is that the combination of Parkinson's and aging has robbed me of my nearly photographic memory. The long term memory is still there, but the short term memory is bad.

Imagine being able to rewrite your note for a class, and that exercise alone would relegate them to memory. I could do this. Just by rewriting them, I would have them memorized. I could tell you what page and where on the page a particular fact was. It was if I had a snapshot in my mind.

It wasn't only for schoolwork. I would remember important things too. For Instance the roster for 1967 (last place) Yankees. You never know when that will come up in conversation.

People think that I'm a funny guy. Half of the things that I say are from movies that nobody remembers.

I also forget words. Not necessarily unusual words, but simple words. This is particularly upsetting for me. You see I love words. I'm a sesquipedalian. I belong to SA (Sesquipedalians Anonymous). I've completed six steps of the program.

1) I admit that I am a Sesquipedalian;
2) I recognize that the Thesaurus is the higher power that gives me fortitude;
3) I examine prior errors with the help of spell check;
4) I correct these transgressions;
5) learning a new word;
6) helping others who suffer from the same addictions or compulsions. I'll buy them all a Thesaurus.

If you are a Sesquipedalian, tired of having to face a world of those that can't spell avuncular. We are here to solve your conundrum. All that you have to do is acknowledge that you have a problem.

January 3, 2010. Regrets, I've had a Few

There are some rough times. Today until the Medications kicked in, I was struggling. Whenever something like that happens, I feel more mortal.

I'm not in as much of a state of denial as I've claim to be. I've read a good deal about the disease, and I know what it can do.

There are certain things that scare the living daylights out of me. 1) The possibility of ending in an Adult Care facility; 2) Any loss of mental capacity; 3) The Yankees signing Carl Pavano.

There is little that I can do about numbers 1 and 2 except exercise my brain and body. There is nothing I can do about number 3.

When I get these feelings of mortality, I start thinking of regrets that I may have had.

1) I regret most of all not having children. I won't get into that any further at this time.
2) I regret not having purchased Long Term Health Care Insurance. If you are over 40, look into this. A nursing home can cost up to $500.00 a day. Medicaid is available for some, but it is a poverty program. Therefore planning should be done how to best qualify and not deplete all of your assets.
3) I regret not getting Life Insurance. I always figured that I had time and without kids, I didn't really need it. Now it's too late.

There is still some planning that can be done. But for now, what I can do is advise my friends not to make the same mistakes. Go see an Elder Law Attorney. Get your affairs in line. It may not be able to wait for tomorrow.

December 23, 2010. This is My Life

There are currently about 1,000,000 people in the United States who have been diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. However it is estimated that about three times that amount or about 1 in 90 people have the Disease, but have not been diagnosed yet. http://www.parkinsons-disease.org/best-parkinsons-disease-statistics/

Early symptoms go relatively unnoticed. For instance, my first symptom was my handwriting. The letter were cramped and difficult to read. Since my handwriting has always been poor, I ignored this for some time. This coupled with a difficulty grasping fine objects, for example a pen or a fork, led me to believe that I was suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome. This made sense to my General Practitioner, because I was constantly typing. That was ruled out quickly.

When I finally was diagnosed, I asked the prognosis. The Doctor said, "You don't die from Parkinson's."

I'm a trained Lawyer, so I read everything, so I found out that it is true, that people don't die from PD per se. People do however die from the results of Parkinson's, falls, aspiration pneumonia, infections. Furthermore, about 1 in 3 develop Parkinsonian Dementia. That thought scares me the most.

So to revisit yesterday's post, bravery is not the issue. This is my life. It may have 10 more years, it may have 40 more years. It's foolish to be morose. I'm not being brave, I'm accepting a fact and doing the best that I can to live with it.

So I'll wake up in the morning and go to work. I'll watch the old movies on television. I'll watch the Yankees. I'll quote Groucho forever. I'll read. And someday, many years from now, someone will ask if I'm comfortable. I'll answer, "I make a living." Those will be my last words. Leave them laughing.