Push the Button

I have extraordinary family and close friends who have travelled this journey with me. They support me day by day, in ways that are difficult to describe and impossible to repay: practically, emotionally and without fail. I cannot thank them enough for everything they do.

The truth is that I probably do not thank them nearly enough.

I am sorry for that.

But this article is about something slightly different. It is about people beyond that closest circle who, every so often, decide to push the button.

They may be old friends, former colleagues, people from support groups, members of my community whom I have not had the opportunity to know so closely, or people from whom I have no right to expect anything at all. Some may even feel nervous about approaching me because of PSP, uncertain about what to say or whether they might be intruding.

Sometimes it arrives as a blast from the past. Sometimes it is an unexpected trip down memory lane. Sometimes it is a simple, “Good morning. How are you?” Sometimes it is a photograph, an old letter, a voice note or a private joke that would mean almost nothing to anyone else but makes complete sense to the two of us.

There is nothing dramatic about it. They have thought of me and pushed the button.

A message arrives. A connection is restored. For a few moments, the walls of my daily life widen a little.

Living with PSP can make life feel very small. So much of my world now takes place between the same rooms, the same chair and the same routines. The people closest to me do everything they possibly can to support me within that world.

These unexpected messages bring something else into it. They bring a different time, a different place, an old memory or a new joke. They remind me of a part of myself that existed long before PSP entered the picture.

They are not offering advice. They are not trying to fix me. Usually, they are not asking for anything at all.

They are simply connecting.

Sometimes that connection carries a quiet message within it:

I am here.

You can reach out.

You have not been forgotten.

That sustains me far more than the sender will ever realise.

None of this is a comparison with my family or closest friends. They are the foundation of my life, and what they give me goes far beyond anything I could reasonably ask.

Perhaps these other messages are the icing on the cake. The cake matters far more. Without it, there is nothing. But the icing adds something unexpected: a little sweetness at exactly the right moment, arriving from a different direction and sometimes changing the feel of an entire day.

The people who send these messages do not want praise, recognition or to be named. Most would probably be uncomfortable even knowing that I had written this.

I only want to say thank you.

And I want to say one more thing, in case it is ever needed.

You may not receive a long reply. Some days, I may not manage to reply at all. Please do not mistake that for a lack of appreciation.

Your message may have made me laugh. It may have carried me somewhere else for a few minutes. It may have reminded me who I was before PSP, who I still am today, and that my life remains connected to worlds beyond the one immediately around me.

It may simply have made a difficult day a little easier.

So, when you find yourself thinking of someone, push the button. Do not worry about finding the perfect words. You may have no idea how much difference a small, unexpected message can make.

And to those who have pushed the button for me, thank you.

You know who you are.