How to marinade a millionaire...

Where Emma contemplates matrimony

No millionaires were harmed...

Hello from a snowy Scotland! As ever, thank you for your well wishes as I recover from last weeks cold.

✍︎

I was never one of those girls who dreamt of being married or having a big wedding or any of that sort of rubbish. I wasn’t really sure what chaps were for having grown up in an all-female household. Sure, I had a fair few boyfriends and certainly, I keep the company of men more than women when it comes to friendship. But the weddingy/marriage/Disney prince stuff was never my bag.

However, I have been married once and am engaged to be again.

My first marriage provided a certain perspective on the world namely; however hard you work at something, a square peg and round hole…you get the idea. (I do have two glorious daughters to show for it though.)

My partner and I are a neat match. (Regular readers will know that there is a book telling this fairly remarkable story of how we got together*.)

But then enters Parkinson’s.

*And yes, I am writing a Parkinson’s rom-com.

Now I know I’m not the disease and it’s not me yada, yada. But that is a rather trite reality view, don’t you think? This disease has got us by the cajones.

So now there is a third person in this relationship…Mr P.

For me, he quietly pulls bits of my identity as a good partner away. He nips at my dignity and feminity. I feel and look more crone like than I was ready for at this stage. My once delicate daintiness is more like frail and crumbling plaster. That quick wit I used to flirt and tease is punctuated with blank stares and wondering why I entered the room.

How long will it be before my resilience deflates and I’m no more than a failed souffle?

My partner and I have been engaged for 3 maybe 4 years now. And primarily we haven’t got to the wedding bit as we both hate big events and frankly would be happiest just eloping for a quiet weekend in the hills, with no fuss. But you know…expectations.

There is the elephant in the room. Well more a tortoise. What does the future of being married to me with Parkinson’s look like? Can I in all conscience allow someone to share the burden of this unpredictable, debilitating disease? Especially when this is our opportunity to finally spend the time having fun, being with each other after years of denying ourselves the chance.

Perhaps, dearest reader, I’m simply just not going to be fun anymore.

I don’t want you to think I’m unaware how incredibly lucky I am to have a partner who is bloody awesome. The challenge of doing this alone, trying to date, and so on must be an unbelievable struggle. Love and respect to you guys.

Taking the love I have heaped on me without second-guessing an unknown future is a lesson I need to learn and just accept. But dammit! It’s hard. Parkinson’s makes me stuck, rigid not only in body but mind and emotion. Time to b-r-e-a-t-h-e and relax.

So. I need to embrace the good stuff: dark humour, camping in the wilds, too much red wine, random cooking adventures, political debate, and domestic bliss. Yep, and I need to let Mr P have his part in this relationship, too.

I’d love to hear how Mr P has impacted your relationships.

With Love

Emma x

P.S Feel free to share, it will guarantee you a place in Valhalla.