When I was diagnosed I was given a Parkinson’s box to put my life into; some things fit in the box while others I have to leave behind.
day I fill up my box and post it to myself. When the parcel arrives I very
often put its contents to one side and intensely scrutinise the Parkinson's box; its shape
and size, is it smaller than yesterday’s box? I forget to enjoy the things I
can do, the things I send to myself. The box is incidental; what’s inside is