Caregiving is also about bringing back some of what Parkinson’s takes away
It became harder for my uncle to grill, until we found a way to call him back to it
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As I’ve previously mentioned, my late uncle Brandon loved a good “chill and grill.”
He didn’t just grill for fun. He could put together a full Texas-style feast that always seemed to appear out of nowhere. As a kid, I used to wonder how he managed to get ribs, brisket, sausage, chicken, and everything else ready in just a few hours. It brought everyone together: family, friends, neighbors, and even people we didn’t know well. Food was his way of welcoming people.
He was pretty slim, but when it came to barbecue, he could eat a lot. Still, it wasn’t just about the food. It was about everything that happened around it. Grilling helped him unwind after a long week, connect with his sons, joke with friends, and have real talks with my aunt. It simply was a part of who he was.
But as his Parkinson’s disease got worse, I started to see things change. The grill, which used to be his place, became harder for him to handle. His movements got shakier, and his balance wasn’t as good. Even standing at the pit for a long time became risky as his coordination changed. As the disease progresses, daily tasks may require more help than before.
And then there was the eating. Foods he used to eat easily, like ribs and sausage, became harder for him. I watched him slow down, take smaller bites, and sip drinks more often so he wouldn’t choke. It wasn’t as easy for him to dig in like before. These changes are linked to swallowing problems and dysphagia, which can affect how someone enjoys meals.
Back to the grill
Over time, I could feel the quiet discouragement set in. It wasn’t only about cooking less. He was losing something that had always been part of his routine, his identity, and his ability to bring people together. Even when he watched cooking competition shows and joked from the couch like he always did, I could tell there was more going on.
We all noticed it. We didn’t want him to feel like he had to give this up completely, but we also didn’t want to make it obvious or make him feel pitied. So we came up with a plan.
We decided to casually suggest having a barbecue for Memorial Day weekend. Nothing special, just something we’d normally do. My cousin, his son, would take care of the grill, but the plan was to include my uncle in a way that felt natural.
When the day came, my cousin got everything started. The grill was going, the meat was on, and my uncle was sitting nearby in his favorite outdoor chair, pretending not to pay attention.
“Ay, Pops,” my cousin called out. “I’m trying to get that char you usually get. How do you position the meat again?”
That was all it took. My uncle looked over, smiled slightly, and said, “I can tell you all day, but I need to see it for myself.”
There was a brief pause. My cousin stepped in closer and said, “Come here, Pops. I’ve got you. Just help me out for a minute.”
You could feel the hesitation in that moment. The questions hung in the air. Could he still do it? Was it safe? Would it feel the same?
But then he pushed past it. He stood up, came over, and asked me to grab him something to drink because he had some work to do. And he did.
It wasn’t easy. You could see how much effort it took. But he had support, and most importantly, he was back to doing what he loved. He wasn’t just watching. He was himself again.
Not quite the way it was
The rest of us went about things as usual, making sides and setting up. There were no big announcements or extra attention. It was (purposefully) just a regular day.
Later, he told us to call a couple of his friends over. And just like that, we were back at the table, eating, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t exactly the same as before. But it didn’t have to be.
That day reminded me that sometimes caregiving isn’t just about stepping in when things go wrong. Sometimes it’s about finding quiet ways to bring someone back to the parts of their life that matter most. Even if it looks a little different. Even if it takes more effort.
Moments like that don’t just fill a plate. They restore something deeper. For my uncle, that small return to something familiar brought back a sense of confidence that carried him forward. It reminded me that caregiving isn’t just about managing symptoms. It’s also about protecting the parts of life that still bring joy.
Note: Parkinson’s News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Parkinson’s News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Parkinson’s disease.
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