I’m not making this up.
I prick up my ears whenever I hear about someone else with HD.
The link to the article is below. She was born in 1879, lived 83 years and, according to the article, was fully engaged in what she loved until the end.
She was a Victorian adventurer who traveled and wrote and drank good wine.
Give me some of that HD.
The focus of the article is not about her having HD, so I can understand why there were no details. But I still want to know more about her experience with HD. How did her symptoms manifest? How did she plow right through them? How did she seemingly love her life so very much?
I imagine that her diagnosis might have been very late in life. She certainly didn’t get a genetic test at 35 and then question her own wisdom for the rest of her life.
My mother is 83 years old, the same age as the dance critic was when she died. Mom found out she had HD when she asked me if I had it. My mom’s old friends say that when my mom was younger, she was an entirely different person. The kind of person who would meet you at the train station with a pineapple upside down cake. She was a skier, a tennis player, an artist, a pianist, an organist, and probably had even more skills and passions than I will ever know about. The decades she spent staring out the window and fighting off HD symptoms were unfairly stolen from her.
Now she barely sits and eats. I wait for the phone call in the middle of the night.
I want my life to be as joyful as the dance critic’s.
It is up to me, until it can’t be up to me anymore.