Parkinson’s brought the cup into my uncle’s life, but he made it his own

The disease can complicate activities most of us rarely think twice about

Written by Crystal Onyema |

Banner image for Caregiving Unfiltered column by Crystal Onyema.

“Niece! Bring me my cup, will ya?”

Once Uncle Brandon was living with Parkinson’s disease, there was rarely any confusion in our family about which cup he meant. It was THE cup, and wherever Uncle Brandon went around the house, chances were it wasn’t too far behind.

It followed him to his favorite chair in the living room, out to his hangout spot in the garage, and onto the front porch, where he would brave the Texas heat or cold just to get some fresh air. At night, it sat near his bedside. During meals, it was right there at the kitchen table.

And Lord help us if somebody misplaced that cup.

Recommended Reading
Banner image for Caregiving Unfiltered column by Crystal Onyema.

We thought Uncle Brandon needed us, but forgot how much we needed him

Uncle Brandon would start asking everybody where it was, and before long, we were practically ready to issue an Amber Alert for its safe return. For a man who had managed to quench his thirst from plenty of contraptions throughout his life, I couldn’t understand what made this particular cup so important.

For the first year or two he had it, though, it rarely left his side. One day, I picked it up and noticed something I hadn’t before. It was heavy. Not ridiculously heavy, but noticeably heavier than I expected a cup containing a drink to be.

I asked Uncle Brandon whether he had noticed the difference. “Naw,” he told me. “It’s made for me.”

Made for you?

His explanation wasn’t exactly something you’d find in a Parkinson’s brochure, but I eventually got the point. It was an adaptive insulated mug designed to make drinking easier for someone dealing with physical challenges like his.

Parkinson’s can complicate everyday activities that most of us rarely think twice about, including eating and drinking. Adaptive cups and other assistive devices can help make some of those daily tasks easier and support independence. What struck me about Uncle Brandon’s cup, however, wasn’t only what it helped him do. It was how naturally he made it part of the life he was already living.

There was nothing particularly clinical-looking about his prized possession by the time he got through with it.

Uncle Brandon had decked it out with Army and Dallas Cowboys decor, two things that fit him perfectly. If you didn’t know why he carried that particular cup, you might have simply thought it was another piece of Cowboys gear belonging to a man who loved his team. Looking back, I think that mattered.

So many things can begin to change after a Parkinson’s diagnosis. Ordinary routines can require adjustments. Objects you never paid attention to before can suddenly serve an important purpose. Before long, those adjustments can become so woven into everyday life that the family barely thinks twice about them.

But Uncle Brandon’s cup didn’t seem out of place in his world. He could have it with him around his friends, take it into the garage, sit with it on the porch, or have it beside him while watching television. It helped accommodate a condition that was changing parts of his life without looking like Parkinson’s had taken over his life.

Maybe that’s why, years later, I can still picture that cup so clearly. At the time, I mostly knew it as the thing I better find when Uncle Brandon yelled, “Niece!” from another room. I didn’t fully appreciate what something so ordinary could represent.

Today, I see it differently.

Adaptive equipment can sound clinical when you read the words on a page. In real life, sometimes it’s just your uncle’s favorite cup. It gets decorated with the things he loves. It travels from room to room. Everybody knows who it belongs to. Eventually, nobody thinks twice about why it’s there.

When Uncle Brandon told me that cup was “made for me,” he was talking about its purpose. But looking back, there was another truth in those words.

Parkinson’s may have been the reason the cup entered his life, but once Uncle Brandon covered it in pieces of himself and carried it into the places where he was most comfortable, it wasn’t simply a Parkinson’s aid anymore.

It was his cup. And yes, we better know where it was.


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.

Comments are moderated. Once approved, your comment and username will be publicly visible. Please avoid sharing personal health information or other sensitive details.