Watching my father’s Parkinson’s progression with anticipatory grief

Over the past few years, I’ve seen a lot of my friends go through the heartbreak of losing a parent. In most cases, the loss was sudden, like a lightning flash in the darkness. There was little buildup. There was no warning sign. One day their parent was alive, and the next day they were gone.

My heart aches every time I see this human process unfold. Even though losing a parent is natural, it also seems to be lonely — a devastating yet human experience.

My grief is different. It’s slow and quiet. It creeps in around the edges at the strangest times, reminding me about a looming death instead of a death that’s already come to pass. It’s anticipatory grief.

It rears its head when I notice the progression of Dad’s Parkinson’s disease. I feel it when I visit him for Christmas, and it’s clear he’s changing, that the disease has claimed something else. He has less mobility. His voice is soft. He’s freezing more than he did.

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Assessing our separation

What further complicates the ache in my heart is the reality that my dad and I often don’t get along. Our basic moral philosophies and the way we see the world are different, so we’re often teetering on the edge of an eruptive conversation. We’re polarized.

I both crave closeness with a parent who always seems to be on the brink of death, and I don’t know how to have it. I want to be mindful of every moment I have left with my dad, yet our ideologies and perspectives create a natural separation between us.

How do you cherish the little time you have together when you’re so fundamentally different? I don’t know.

I don’t think you can or should measure grief. But I do think it comes in many forms. Friends who’ve lost their parents often feel robbed of time. Some of them experience regret, wishing that certain things hadn’t been left unsaid.

I wonder if I say too much to my parents. Can you let bygones be bygones in the light of mortality? Can you just pick up your phone and send your parents a “good morning” text despite your extreme differences?

In most ways, Parkinson’s has been a curse upon my dad. But in some ways I’m grateful for it. The reminder that life is finite has given me more conscious time with him. The closeness of loss or even death is a constant tap on the shoulder, telling me to spend my time well. Or at least to be conscious of how I’m spending what little time we have left.

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.