Back to my mythologized journey… 

I stand outside the cave, taking a final look, feeling both wonder and disbelief. Anxiety clings to me, a constant companion. Daisy’s advice echoes in my mind—I need to let go and live one moment at a time, but Parkinson’s Disease (PD) makes that difficult. My interactions with family, friends, and strangers remind me daily of my diminishing emotional filters. Though I intellectually understand my unmoored feelings, overcoming them is another challenge. My reactions are now physiological responses that my mind can’t always control. The deterioration is swift, and there are days when I feel like a mere observer of my slipping mental control, speech, and health. While I can’t stop PD’s progress, I can still try to embrace Daisy’s advice: live moment by moment, let go, and maybe even adopt a dog.

I spot Benny, waiting by boxes of old stage manager call books. He grins at me and asks, “What happened in the cave?” I don’t answer directly but instead say, “Benny, it’s time to get rid of these call books. They’re outdated and have no place in my life now.” He looks puzzled but agrees, tossing the boxes into my EV. “Where’s the rest of the troupe?” I ask. He points to a nearby grove of trees.

Walking over, I find them sitting around a firepit. The flames are out, but the ashes still smolder. “Why weren’t you in the cave?” I ask. Apathetic Annie sheepishly explains, “We were there, but we left quietly to give you time with Daisy.” Grieving Gertrude adds, “You’re still processing Daisy’s death.” Indecisive Izzy chimes in, “We thought giving you space might help.” One by one, they all apologize for the weight they’ve placed on me. I’m stunned, overwhelmed by a sudden euphoria. Lonely Louise gently offers to help me find the dog Daisy promised, and I accept her help.

Benny hands me my laptop, suggesting it’s time to start the search. The troupe gathers around me in a semi-circle, staring. “What?!” I scream. “You’re making me nervous!” I lash out, “Can’t I have one day without pressure?!” Then I sigh, realizing I can’t. Parkinson’s makes everything harder, even the positive emotions like joy and hope. They stir up happy memories that often turn into tears.

“Am I ever going to get rid of you?” I ask them desperately. Apathetic Annie steps closer, putting her arm around me. She leads me toward Hope and Sad Sammy, who hold a large object wrapped in red velvet. “This is for you,” they say. I unwrap it to find a mirror framed with hundreds of stained glass pieces. “These pieces represent all of us,” Hope explains. “We’re always with you, but you don’t have to fear us. Speak to us in the mirror, from your heart. We now understand how Parkinson’s affects your ability to cope. We’ll stand with you in this battle.”

I look at them, speechless, and manage a simple “Thank you.” Benny re-wraps the mirror and stores it in the EV. He then takes charge, instructing everyone to get in the car. As I wipe away tears and get behind the wheel, Lonely Louise eagerly reminds me, “We’re going to search for that dog!” I sigh, knowing how much work it will be, and start the drive home, thinking, “Oh, boy!”