When you work in journalism, for better or worse, you often look at the world around you in terms of stories. It’s an occupational hazard. And so, after my father, my brother and, finally, I were diagnosed with Parkinson’s, I began to wonder if my family’s saga with the disease might be a story worth telling.

There was nothing particularly novel about that notion. Any number of writers have chronicled their experience with a particular ailment. But how do you do it in a way that doesn’t seem self-indulgent — that doesn’t have a “Look at my courageous struggle” tone to it? And how do you maintain a degree of objectivity when the topic is one about which you can’t possibly be objective?

These are challenging questions, and it’s probably fortunate that my colleague and co-producer Michael Schwarz and I had plenty of time to mull them over during the three years it took to raise enough money to begin filming. We decided that the film, My Father, My Brother, and Me, would take the structure of a personal journey, but would also go beyond the personal. We wanted to look at all the scientific and societal questions that Parkinson’s raises, ranging from the latest research to the ethical debate surrounding embryonic stem cell science.

As our film progressed, we met some extraordinary folks: doctors, researchers, people with Parkinson’s and their families. Tom Shearer, a PWP, and his wife, Madeleine, were portraits in everyday courage. We were filming them one day as Tom struggled to get his shoes on. When he was done, he looked at us and summed up in three short words the best approach I know to facing the future: “Shoes on again,” he said.

I got to see, film and interview so many Parkinson’s patients who wouldn’t let the disease get the best of them. We also were privileged to be tutored in the latest research by top scientists like Matt Farrer, Michael Zigmond, Judy Cameron, Bill Langston and Ole Isacson. Collectively, what they all provided — patients, families and researchers alike — can be summarized in one word: hope. It’s really that simple. It’s the principal lesson I learned during my filmmaking journey, and the one I chose to close the film: “Yes, the disease is progressive, but so too is science. And as we await those discoveries, we have at our fingertips the enduring power of the human spirit.”

It is that power — that hopefulness — that in the end allows us to keep moving forward. It’s an approach to life I first learned from my parents and witnessed again in my brother. And it’s the gift my daughter gives me each day: being so loved that you want to embrace the future.

Since our film aired, I’ve had the opportunity to speak at regional conferences sponsored by the American Parkinson’s Disease Association. I think people come to those gatherings looking for a way to respond to a question Michael J. Fox posed after coming to terms with having PD: “I have Parkinson’s. It’s a fact. But now what?” I believe one thing those of us with Parkinson’s share is the hunger to answer that question by embracing what is there rather than what isn’t. It is, I think, the hunger for hope. And it’s a journey that begins every time we follow Tom Shearer’s advice and put our shoes on again.