Tom, Andy, and I were constantly asked, âWhat was it like to be a triplet?â The easy answer was that we knew nothing differentâit simply was! The spotlight was on us from the very beginning. I’m sure we underwhelmed all the curious onlookers with our singular mediocrity.
One of the biggest takeaways of being Tim, Tom, and Andy is the shared birthdayâevery year, year after year, year after year. I don’t remember one year that we did not celebrate together⌠some more memorable than others, but I digress.
Good morning and happpy Monday.
Andy had planned to write a blog post about the triplets. I scanned photos for the post, and he was collecting his thoughts before getting started. When the time came for him to write it he wasnât able to type or dictate it himself. He told me he wanted his triplet brothers, Tom and Tim, to write it for him. Without hesitation, both brothers agreed.
Hello friends, family, and followers! This is Andy’s son, Alex, writing to you again today with another story about Daddio.
For those of you who don’t know me that well, I was a competitive swimmer from ages 8-22. And while I’m usually pretty humble about my abilities â since I always knew people that were faster than me â in high school swimming I was basically a god among men. đ
Good morning. Iâm Mike Havenga.
It is my pleasure to be a guest blogger on Andy’s blog today. Andy wrote so many wonderful blogs for so many days, many which touched my and my wife Beth’s heart. Reading those first thing each morning was so important to us as they likely were to you too. I think we’d all agree that he was an extroverted person that everyone gravitated towards. And he was thoughtful enough to document his journey with this shitty disease so we could all get a glimpse of what it must have been like, never fully understanding what he or Cindy were going through.
Happy Wednesday everybody,
When people ask how I’m getting along now, I tell them that it feels unreal, kind of like the past almost two years couldn’t possibly have happened. Then a little while later someone’s kind gesture or touching words or a song - especially a song - will bring the tears and the gut-punch of reality. I know what I’m feeling is “normal” and I just have to keep moving through it.
Good morning, everyone. This post is written by the eldest of the Snarski siblings - Elisabeth aka Lis.
All of the followers of Andyâs blog know what an avid reader he was. He frequently wrote about how becoming immersed in a book was a way for him to forget about the shitty disease. Many of us shared our book recommendations with him and were delighted when he reported on how much he enjoyed one of our picks.
Todayâs post was written by Alex on February 26, the day before Andy left us âŚ
Thank you all for reading Daddioâs blog each and every day, or at least keeping up as much as possible. My dad has the analytics turned off for this blog so we don’t actually know how many of you are out there. There are a lot of days where I have trouble opening Dad’s post because of the emotions it opens up, and I have found help in imagining every one of you readers standing beside me giving me the strength to do so.
Hello friends, family, and followers! I’m Alex, Andy’s son, writing to you today with a story about my Daddio.
Growing up with divorced parents meant that I stayed with my mom for the most part, and then lived with my dad every other weekend. While we aren’t big movie people, there were quite a few weekends where we would go see whatever movie was popular at the time - movies like Revenge of the Sith, Iron Man 1, Jason Bourne, National Treasure, and other action movies like that.
Happy Wednesday, everyone. And happy birthday to Nikkiâs husband, Zack!
Where do I start?
When people ask how Iâm doing I tell them Iâm OK. Iâm not really OK but the long answer would involve an exhausting amount of emotion and tears. So rather than go there I thought Iâd tell you what weâve been up to the past few days and our plans going forward. Iâm not the writer that Andy was so bear with me.
I’ll never forget the day my husband was diagnosed with ALS. The neurologist stood next to the hospital bed, “I hope I’m wrong - I really hope I’m wrong - but I believe you have ALS. "
I had no reaction because I didn’t believe it. It couldn’t possibly be ALS. I was sure we would go home and begin researching diseases that mimic ALS but are nowhere near as serious and we would discover the real issue.
Good afternoon, Andy’s Army,
This is Cindy again. Just wanted to let you all know what’s been happening with him the past couple of days.
Like Andy said in his post on Wednesday, “ALS keeps taking things.”
Yesterday, he was not able to type on his phone because his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. We got an iPad, which should make typing easier and more accurate in the future.
This is Cindy
Hi. Andy won’t be sending a blog post today. I’m going to try to send one on his behalf if I can figure out how. His fingers just aren’t working well enough to type. He’s resting now.
Good morning, everyone.
This will be a short post today. Iâm having serious issues with my hands, and theyâre making a mess of my typing. They shake so much that I hit unintended keys, which leads to corrections⌠which leads to more errors. Ugh.
Tim and Tom have been asking â like everyone else â âWhat can we help you with?â My typical answer is âNothing.
Yesterday was different.
I donât enjoy showering anymore.
Good morning, everyone.
I had planned to tell a triplet story today, but we had a major malfunction last night that needs to be addressed.
My journey to bed requires four transfersâwheelchair to stairlift, stairlift to small upstairs wheelchair, wheelchair to toilet, and finally into bed. Itâs an exhausting routine, but itâs the price I pay to sleep in our bedroom. Eventually, that will change. A hospital bed will move to the main floor.
Good morning, everyone.
Hospice admissions came to the house yesterday and spent a couple of hours walking us through their services. I was genuinely impressed by everything they offer to make me comfortable and to make life a little easier.
Truthfully, it isnât all that different from what weâve been doing since the day I was diagnosed with ALS. From the beginning, this has been about managing symptoms, adapting the house, lining up equipment, and finding tools to keep me as independent and safe as possible.
Good morning, everyone.
Well, my stubbornness caught up with me this past week. I suppose it was inevitable.
At the ALS clinic, Dianeâthe PT Iâve been seeing over the past yearâhas been encouraging me to wear my AFOs around the house. The AFOs provide ankle support and help prevent my foot from flopping. They work really well. Unfortunately, my feet have been swollen lately, and I canât get them into my shoes with the devices on.
Good morning, everyone.
Wow. It feels like ALS just met exponential numbers and went into overdrive. Maybe thatâs reality⌠or maybe itâs my mind amplifying every change. Either way, yesterday felt different.
My breathing took a noticeable turn. Each breath requires effort now. Iâm trying to be judicious about using the ventilator during the day so I can give my dry mouth a break, but that balancing act is getting harder.
Good morning, everyone.
Yesterday was a long one, just as expected.
We were picked up at 11:00 a.m. sharp. Our driver was cordial and immediately took over control of the power chair, insisting I not touch the joystick. I suspect a past passenger left him with trust issues.
Once locked into the van, we headed out. The moment we hit the main road, we knew it would be a rough ride.
Good morning, everyone.
Today is ALS Clinic in Glenview. This is the rescheduled visit from two weeks ago when I had a two-hour coughing fit caused by a liquid prescription that went down the wrong pipe.
Weâre getting picked up by a van that allows me to stay in the power chair, so Iâm hoping this ride will be fairly easy. The only complication will be using the restroom. They should all be ADA accessible, but I may need an assist.
Good morning, everyone.
Letâs head north to Marshfield, WI, my momâs hometown. (My version of what I remember)
My mom was the youngest of five childrenâan Irish girl born into a busy household where the next sibling was six years older and the oldest nearly twelve years ahead. She may have been the surprise at the end of the line, but she never felt like an afterthought.
As adults, those five siblings stayed fiercely close.