I was in my closet the day I heard those three letters: ALS. Eric called me from the doctor’s office in San Francisco; he’d flown down to see a neurologist there. His symptoms started maybe a year prior. When we would have a meal with the kids, he’d say things like, “Something’s wrong with my hand.” He was struggling to use his chopsticks, dropping his food. That was when he started seeing doctors. He was initially diagnosed with a few other things, but he had this sinking feeling that it was something more serious. And I was like, “No, it’s not. I promise you it’s not. I can feel this! It’s gonna be okay.”
