I Now Know My Enemy, So Let the Battle Begin

I’ll never forget that winter afternoon when the snow began to fall. I was a boy riding home on the school bus, nose pressed to the frosted glass, excited about a fresh blanket of snow on our ranch. But as we neared the railroad crossing, my joy turned to fear. There, in the ditch by the tracks, was our family car crumpled, the windshield shattered.

My heart pounded as I realized my father had been driving. He had lost control on the icy road and slid onto the tracks just as a train thundered through. Firemen, medics, and doctors all said the same thing: it’s a miracle he’s alive.

That became a kind of theme with my father. Once, while falling timber, a tree split what loggers call a “barber chair.” It launched him fifty feet through the air, landing him on his head. He walked away with a concussion, but no broken bones. Growing up, I believed my father was invincible bigger than life itself.

But then came the day that changed everything. My father grew tired, weaker than I’d ever seen him. Months of testing gave no answers until the doctor finally said the words that rocked our family: “Ed, you have Parkinson’s Disease.”

We asked how much time he had. The doctor replied, “You’ll manage fairly well for a couple of years, but within ten, the disease will take its toll. Ed, I’d say you have about ten years left.”

The words drained the color from my father’s face. For a man who loved to work the ranch who found joy in long days of labor it felt like a death sentence. His passion faded. His once-indomitable spirit began to retreat.

But then came my mother. I remember the moment vividly. She held him close, looked into his weary eyes, and with fierce determination said, “Ed Windsor, you listen to me. I need you. I can’t do this without you. So, if you need to get with God, then get with God. You and Him need to figure this out, because I need you.”

My father wept. Then, with renewed resolve, he said, “Okay, honey. I will figure this out.”

Years later, I came across one of his journals. On the page he had written: “Today, I met with my doctor. He said I have Parkinson’s Disease.” Then, the words that have never left me: “I now know my enemy, so let the battle begin.”

And battle he did. Not for ten years. Not fifteen. Not even twenty. My father fought Parkinson’s for twenty-five years. At one of his final checkups, I sat beside him as the doctor shook his head in amazement. “Ed, you’re my miracle patient. I don’t know how you’ve done it, but there’s no trace of Parkinson’s. You’ve beaten it.”

The doctor may not have understood, but I did. My father’s love for my mother gave him the reason and the will to fight. Their love was stronger than disease.

And it was their love that taught me how to love Tammy faithful, fierce, enduring love that never gives up, even when the enemy has a name.