‘Going fishing’ was the response to a discouraging doctor’s appointment
Fishing was Uncle Brandon's hobby, but on that day it would be a reminder
Written by |
When my uncle Brandon came home one time from a Parkinson’s appointment, he was quieter than usual. The news wasn’t what we had hoped for. His symptoms had gotten worse, and, even though he rarely complained, our family could tell it had been a tough day.
He sat in his chair for a while without saying much, then looked around the room and asked, “What are y’all doing today?” None of us had any real plans. He nodded toward the kitchen.
“Grab my tackle box.”
For a second, nobody moved. We weren’t sure if he was serious. Then he looked at us again with a faux “game face” expression.
“We’re going fishing.”
More than just a hobby
Fishing had always been a big part of Uncle Brandon’s life. Growing up in the country, he saw it as more than just a hobby. It was how he relaxed after long weeks at work, spent time with his sons and friends, and found a special kind of peace by the water. Even as his Parkinson’s got worse, his love for fishing never faded. In fact, I started to notice small reminders of it around the house.
His tackle box, for example, always seemed to be nearby. Every so often, he’d unlatch it and quietly sort through its contents. He’d reorganize lures he’d already organized, check the fishing line, count hooks, and move things from one compartment to another. Everything always had its place.
Whenever I caught him doing it, I’d smile and ask, “Going fishing, Unc?” Without looking up, he’d tap the tackle box, shrug his shoulders, and grin.
“Nah. Just trying to get everything organized.”
Looking back, I don’t know exactly what was going through his mind during those moments, and I wouldn’t pretend to. Maybe he simply enjoyed keeping everything in order. Maybe it was his way of staying connected to something he’d loved for most of his life. Whatever the reason, I noticed he always closed the lid with the same care he’d opened it.
As time went on, his sons invited him to go fishing several times, and most of the time he’d oddly (yet nonchalantly) decline. I never asked why because I didn’t want to make assumptions. It may have been that his balance had changed. It may have been that he simply wasn’t ready yet. All I know is that on this particular afternoon, something was different.
Within an hour, we’d loaded the truck, dusted off the boat that had been sitting in the backyard, packed a cooler, and headed toward one of his favorite lakes. I remember watching him prepare his fishing pole with the same determination he’d always had. Even though his tremors made the task slower than before, he insisted on baiting his own hook. None of us argued. We knew how important it was for him to do as much as he comfortably could on his own.
The fishing itself wasn’t particularly remarkable. I honestly couldn’t tell you how many fish we caught that afternoon. What stayed with me was something much quieter.
He sat in one of his signature stances — near the edge of the water with his baseball cap pulled low, sunglasses shielding his eyes, a cold drink within reach, and a fishing pole resting comfortably in his hands. For most of the afternoon, he didn’t say very much. Neither did the rest of us. We simply listened to the water, listened to music, watched our lines, and enjoyed being together.
A reminder
Looking back, I don’t know whether that fishing trip changed anything about his Parkinson’s. But from where I stood, it seemed to give him something medicine couldn’t. For a few peaceful hours, there were no appointments to keep, no conversations about progression, and no reminders of everything Parkinson’s had changed. There was only a man sitting beside the water, doing something he had loved for nearly his entire life.
When I think about Uncle Brandon now, I don’t immediately picture doctor’s offices or medications. I picture that lake, that weathered tackle box, and the quiet determination it took to reach for both of them one more time.
In hindsight, I realize the memory isn’t really about fishing. It’s about recognizing that even when life changes in ways we never expected, there can still be room to hold the places, hobbies, and traditions that remind us who we’ve always been.
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.
Leave a comment
Fill in the required fields to post. Your email address will not be published.