Made in Richmond

I’ve talked about how much I love Michael J. Fox before.

He was on Oprah yesterday, talking about his experiences as an individual with Parkinson’s disease. He was so candid and honest and positive, it brought me to tears several times. Not just because of his bravery, but more so because he was reminding me of someone.

My grandfather had Parkinson’s. He passed away when I was 12. I honestly don’t know if it was specifically the disease that took him, but I know it complicated things.

While watching Mr. Fox talk about what his days are like (needing a plan B, C, D, E, F and so on because you just don’t know what you’re going to get when you wake up; having to put on hard shoes right when he gets up to keep his feet from curling up inward; looking forward to brushing his teeth because it’s the one task where his shaking makes him more efficient), I finally got a glimpse of what Grandaddy must have gone through as he lived with this disease. And I was so proud. I don’t know when he was diagnosed  (I’m sure my dad or siblings could help me out with that), but never once do I recall him turning down the opportunity to play with us – and playing at his house always involved being outside, usually with a wiffle ball and a blue plastic bat.

Being so young during the time our lives intersected, I didn’t really connect the dots. I knew he had shaky hands and legs, but I didn’t know and didn’t particularly care why. I thought he was just wiggly or antsy. As a young kid, I could relate, I suppose. When his hands would shake, I would hold them to try and make them stop.

But it’s not the shaking that I remember. When I think about his hands, I see the freckles on them, just like the ones I have on mine and the ones that JR will most likely have on his, thanks to the red hair and fair skin he inherited from Grandaddy through me. I think about him making me wheat toast with butter in the toaster oven, an appliance that I found fascinating when I was little. I remember him teaching me how to use their black rotary phone in their kitchen, gently placing my fingers in the circles and showing me how to whip the dialer around.

Strong, steady, loving.

And definitely missed. So very missed.