Kenin

There are good people.

My husband has Parkinson's. Every day of the week, regardless of the weather (excluding blizzards and hurricanes), he walks 5K. I walk with him on weekends but only when the temperature is below 55. I love our walks; the nature around us is beautiful. But for exercise? I prefer to be out of the heat and humidity.

He prefers the outdoors. He walks every day because exercise is the only thing all the Parkinson's neurologists agree slows the progression.

Slows. It is still progressing.

When we walk, we hold hands. Not only has that always been our normal, now it keeps the tremor in his right hand from affecting his walk. When he walks alone, he bounces a lacrosse ball. It helps with dexterity and distracts the tremor as well.

He is well-known in our town. People wave at him from their cars, sometimes stopping to say how inspiring he is. He has been hugged by strangers who see him in other locations and recognize him, "you're the guy with the ball!" More than one person has used him as an example to a child as someone with discipline and drive.

This morning, he was walking with his ball and it hit a rock, careening into a hole about four feet deep. The hole is covered by a board, but, obviously, there's enough space for a ball to fall through. Cars zipping by, he lay on the ground and stuck his arm through the hole. He couldn't reach it. I suspect at this point his tremor was a bit uncontrollable as well (he walks before he takes his medication because the side effect is his right leg twists inward making walking very uncomfortable). He gave up and continued walking home, sans ball.

Maybe three minutes later, the time it took to walk from one side of the high school to the other, a pick up truck pulled over and parked. A nicely dressed, clean cut man (my husband's description) got out and started walking toward my him.

Ball in hand.

Apparently, he's a cop in our town and sees my husband often; one of the many who waves back - my husband always waves when the police drive by. He saw what happened.

"How did you get it?" my husband asked.

"I moved the board and jumped in the hole."

Nice clothes and all.

My husband thanked him repeatedly and has told me I must remember his name: Kenin.

He was so moved as he told me the story. He kept sipping his water to calm himself. I was crying as soon as the pick up truck parked and the guy got out, figuring what was coming although I assumed he was gifting him a ball, not that he'd climbed in a hole to get my husband's.

For every person who makes me angry and sad because they are impatient and unkind with my husband, I must remember there are good people around, too.