I’s the spring of 2016, I am 41 years old, and the truth is, when they tell us my dad has ALS, I don’t even fully know what it is.
Well, on some level, I know what it is. I’ve known, from my dad’s symptoms, that there is something obviously wrong — he’s been slurring his words lately, almost like he’s had a few drinks. I know, from the tests they’re running, and from his doctor’s choice of words, that it’s bad news. And I know, from (of all things …) having done the Ice Bucket Challenge a couple of summers ago, that this is a disease without a cure.