I’m holding Peter’s little purple pill box in my hand. It is the box Peter used to carry his daily supply of the pills that kept his Parkinson’s Disease in check for many years. Four times a day, his phone alarm told him when to take two.
But now, he doesn’t carry the purple box anymore. His Parkinson’s has gone on a rampage after thirteen years, and he can’t take charge of his pills any more. In addition, his mobility has deteriorated so he cannot walk on his own. At his recent neurologist appointment, the doctor said there was nothing more to be done.
So, after ninety-one years of a life well-lived, he has decided to stop eating and drinking. Many people would not approve of this decision, but it is his, and I honor it.
I am so sad, but so grateful for the wonderful years we have had together.