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“No. She’s the product of love.”
Mitch opens the thick photo album toward the center and shows me a picture of who I can clearly tell is Peyton. Instead of being frail and hunched over, she’s standing tall, vibrant … beautiful. It’s her college graduation photo, followed by a series of pictures of the family at her ceremony. I recognize the family of five from the picture in Luke’s house. This one is older than the other, yet they look equally as happy.
My finger runs over the photo as I admire Peyton. Her golden skin, her shining smile.
“She was so beautiful,” I say and then clear my throat. “Is. She is still very beautiful.”
“It’s okay. We all see the changes in her. Happened quite suddenly. It’s called Huntington’s disease. It’s the equivalent of having ALS, Parkinson’s, and Alzheimer’s, all at once. It affects people in different ways, as it’s a disease of the body and the mind. For Peyton, the onset of symptoms is occurring rapidly.”
“How long has she had it?”
“She was born with it, but was diagnosed five years ago, the same time as her mother.”
Mitch flips the pages of the photo album to the front, toward earlier photos. Luke’s mom with her three young children fill the pages. He stops at a portrait of Luke’s mom with Peyton seated beside her and two babies on her lap. One is clearly a little Luke, a carbon copy of Ainsley at that age. He hands the album to me.
“Annie always wanted to be a mom. On our first date, she said, ‘I don’t care if we get married. I just want kids.’ I told her I’d give her all the babies she wanted, so long as she married me first. We were a little crazy back then. Traveled a lot and partied. We had a good time. We didn’t start having our kids until we were close to thirty. Peyton came first, and then it took a few years before Luke and Lauren were born. Once those rascals were here, I knew why God had made us wait so long. Double trouble those two were. We needed the three of us to handle them. Peyton was ten when they were born, and it was all hands-on deck. She didn’t mind. Luke was her baby.”
I flip the pages of the book. Mitch and Annie raised their children in a home full of laughter. Luke told me stories of his days growing up in the country, but seeing the pictures brings them all to life. Him climbing trees, on four-wheelers, fishing, and frog hunting. He was a cute kid and, not surprising, a very handsome young man. An athlete by the amount of pages that show his athleticism. He and Lauren were the soccer players. Peyton played softball.
The photos are aplenty until around college age. Then, it’s sporadic photos from a birthday celebration or holiday. Over the years, there’s a change in Annie’s appearance. A similar disposition to Peyton’s, yet not as severe until I see a photo of her in a wheelchair with Luke and Peyton around her with halfhearted smiles despite her looking toward the floor.
“When Annie started to show signs of anxiety and depression, we didn’t think anything of it. In fact, she thought it was because she was going through menopause. The kids were all out of the house by then, so they didn’t see her personality alter. I was here, and I didn’t realize it in those first few years. She started getting aggressive and angry—kicked me out of the house more than once. I couldn’t wait for menopause to be over. It lasted forever. Not consistent, but never-ending, and it got worse.”
He flips to a page of her in a hospital bed with Luke’s hand in hers and his head on the bed, as if praying.
“Eventually, Annie’s speech started to wane. She was forgetful. It wasn’t until I got a call that she had fallen at the grocery store and was taken to the hospital did we begin to realize there was something bigger going on.”
He takes a breath and continues. “First, we thought it was Alzheimer’s because of the forgetfulness. Then, a new doctor diagnosed her with Parkinson’s. Peyton came home one day and suggested Annie get tested for Huntington’s disease. She had been doing research and learned about it. We had never heard of it before. Peyton was so smart. She saw it before any of us did. She said we should rule it out, so we went to a geneticist. A few weeks later, Annie was a confirmed carrier of the gene.”
“A gene?”
“It’s a genetic disorder that carries a fifty percent chance of inheriting.”
I look down at the harrowing photo and shake my head. “How did she not know? Surely, someone in the family would’ve had it.”
“Annie was adopted. Her parents were amazing people, but they had no records of her birth family. There was no way to have known. Had she known, it would have killed her. Annie wanted to be a mother desperately.”
“So, her kids …” My words falter, as I can’t truly get them out.
“All at risk of being carriers. Peyton wanted to know right away. She was diagnosed soon after Annie. Luke and Lauren chose not to find out.”
“How could they not want to know?”
Mitch rests his hands on his thighs and looks down at the deck, then up at me. “It’s an evil disease, Jillian. Like a snowflake, no one person has the same symptoms, but it eats at you from the inside out. Walking, eating, drinking, swallowing can become impossible. Mental health takes a toll. Anxiety, depression, and OCD are heightened with Huntington’s. Peyton’s physical symptoms set in earlier than her mother’s. The mental deterioration affected Annie faster than it did Peyton. No matter what, it ends in a catastrophic death. Knowing your demise is a terrible way to live.”
“Ainsley,” I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth as I absorb the information.
“You can’t think the worst.”
“How could I not? I have a little girl whose life this could alter. I mean, Peyton is only forty-three years old, and her quality of life is already cut short. How early could this start?”
“There is juvenile Huntington’s. I beg you not to Google it, or you’ll drive yourself mad. Annie was in her late fifties when the symptoms started. Seventy when she passed. Peyton was forty. Sadly, I don’t think she’ll last as long as her mother.”
“Too young. That’s too young and too horrible of a demise.” I place the album on the couch and push myself up onto unsteady feet, bracing myself on the railing. “Why didn’t Luke tell me?”
“Luke …” Mitch sighs. “He went through a hard time, processing it all. He knew his mom was sick, and like all of us, he accepted the Parkinson’s diagnosis. When we learned about this, researched it, watched the videos, we all fell apart. He wanted to find out, but Lauren begged him not to. She said nothing good could come from knowing. I agreed. I asked him to wait until he started showing symptoms to get tested. When Peyton found out, it was ugly. She stopped living and started waiting. Waiting for the forgetfulness. Waiting for the tremors. I couldn’t stand that for the other two. Luke had dreams, and with that kind of diagnosis, if he were positive, many things in his life would be off the table. Being a fireman, opening up his own restaurant, like he always planned—heck, getting life insurance. Still, he went into a depression for a while. I would have thought it was a symptom showing, except I know my son. He’s strong, but he’s sensitive. My boy wears his emotions.”
“Finding out you could die young would do that to anyone.”
