JOINT BASE SAN ANTONIO-FORT SAM HOUSTON, Texas -- Just the other day I called my dad to chat. We small talked about the weather, my kids and work before the conversation turned to his upcoming birthday.
I asked him about the year he was born and there was silence.
The man who used to crunch and compute lengthy numbers faster than I could enter them in a calculator couldn't recall his age.
My dad has been battling Parkinson's disease, a degenerative disorder of the nervous system, for about five years now. It's stripped him of his ability to drive, ride a bike, and rattle off dates in his beloved military history. His former rapid-fire speak has ground to nearly a halt and his speed walk replaced with a hesitant shuffle.
About 1 million Americans live with Parkinson's disease, according to parkinsonassociation.org, along with an estimated 7 to 10 million people worldwide. While medications can help with symptoms -- such as tremors, slowed movement, rigidity, and impaired balance -- there's no known cure.
It's been tough watching my dad's steady decline. I call each day hoping to hear a sliver of his old brilliant self: a clever joke or a World War II quiz with way too many hints. Whether from the disease or the medication, he struggles for thoughts and those moments have grown few and far between. While I'm grateful for his presence, I really miss my dad.
I've always admired my father, a scholar and dedicated doctor beloved by his patients. As a child, I'd sit in his waiting room anxious to catch a glimpse of him in his bright white lab coat and his stethoscope slung around his neck, escorting his cancer patients out with quiet words of encouragement.
Years later, I swelled with pride when my dad, a prior Vietnam-era Army officer, told me he had decided to join the Air Force Reserve in his 40s. He'd regale me with stories about his tanker missions overseas as a flight surgeon, and his triumphs and challenges after assuming a command. During my visits to his home at the Jersey shore, we'd walk together on the boardwalk -- my dad always wearing his well-worn military veteran hat -- discussing history and science to the cadence of waves crashing against the shore.
This disease may be taking his memories, but nothing can dim his legacy. My father taught me to study hard, give my all at work and show kindness to others. He helped hundreds of people with cancer and served his country through two wars and over two decades. He is among the countless aging veterans of past wars who deserve our continued gratitude and care.
As I walk to my office in San Antonio Military Medical Center I see veterans dating back to World War II, but rarely stop to talk. It's far too easy to see illness and age rather than incredible stories of service and sacrifice. I wish I'd learned more about my father's past. I may have missed that chance, but can honor his legacy by taking time to talk with the veterans and retirees I pass in the hall each day.
When my dad's birthday arrives this year, I will gently remind him of his age and express my admiration for the life he's led. And when he goes to his birthday dinner in his favorite "Proud to be a veteran" hat, I hope people look beyond his stooped posture and shaking hands to thank him for his service. I know I will do the same for our veterans here.
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