Patricia Richardson
Patricia Richardson
My father, Laurence was an intelligent, proud, funny, robust, active, and athletic man with many types of arthritic injuries and health problems that disguised the onslaught of Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP). Still, he was a tiger. In fact, he was the one taking care of my mom when she was in declining health.
At one point, we noticed that dad was falling a lot. We thought it was mom pulling him down, but it was the other way around. The areas of the brain that were affected most caused increasing damage to his motor skills.
My dad's disease was gradual, but it progressed steadily toward the end. I found this so sad and wondered why dad deserved this kind of suffering. In his final days, my sisters and I slept in dad's room and stayed with him around the clock. We petted his brow and held his hand. We played guitar music for him as he had done for us as children. We talked to him, gave him permission to go, laughed and cried, prayed and waited.
It was only after he died that his disease was confirmed. So few people have even heard of PSP. And now I want to do everything I can to prevent others from undue suffering.
