The Armor of Hope

I look at the clock again. Five hours.

I start my morning “hopes.” I hope that is enough rest to get me through this day.

I reach for my 7am meds. I hope my rigid muscles relax and move.

I stretch my ankles and legs, sit on the side of the bed, and think about my morning exercise class. I am ready. I am ready to put on my armor of hope.

Parkinson’s Disease wants to crack my armor of hope but every day, I fight back. I exercise. I take medications. I read research articles about the quest for discoveries to slow or stop the progression of this disease. I look outside of myself to find a purpose, a contribution. I help others put on the heavy armor of hope. And I look for heroes.

My heroes are those who stand beside me to fight.

We fight for control.

We fight for hope.

This morning, my armor of hope cracked. A small crack, but it was an attack on my hope.

Mark, one of my heroes, entered our exercise class for people with Parkinson’s. Mark was pushing a walker. A walker! 

There were five others in the class. We stopped talking. We stood silently. I heard a cracking noise. Did others hear it also? Were they thinking what I was thinking? If Mark needs a walker, how long for me?

One by one, we looked away from Mark and the walker as if our attention was suddenly needed elsewhere. If we caught a glimpse of another’s eyes, there were tears. The tears were for Mark…and for us.

As people in my class said hurried goodbyes and left, there were a few minutes of quiet before the next class arrived.

I sat down beside Mark. We sat in silence, although I could hear a faint cracking sound. After a few moments, I sought to lighten the heaviness around us, so I joked, “Ok. You have fancy new wheels.”

But they were not fancy.

It was not ok.

There was a crack in the armor of hope, a loss of control.

I asked, “How do you feel about using a walker?” He looked at me and with a strong voice, my hero said, “I am angry!”

And then he picked up his sword and armor to fight back for control and hope.

As I lifted my sword, adjusted my armor, and stood beside him, I thought of the hope in these words:

* Though you may hold your sword with a shaky hand,

I see the demons you are slaying.

Carry on, warrior.

You are stronger than you realize.

*Often attributed to Sarah Beth McClure

Mark, my hero, in this story and in life, wrote a book published in 2018 that I recommend. He shares a positive message about his journey with Parkinson's. Click here to find his book on Amazon

Johnson, Mark I. (2018) I Have Parkinson’s Disease, but Parkinson’s Disease Doesn’t Have Me. S. Donovan (Ed).

Photo: Hands holding a flower. Lina Trochez on Unsplash