The issue of assistance is very complex. When I was diagnosed almost 18 years ago, I came out of the neuro's office was a prescription for sinemet, but no prescription for the grace that would let me continue to live the life I wanted in the face of slowly increasing need for more and more help.

For many years I basically refused any assistance because I didn't really need assistance. I could cut my own food, button the buttons on my shirts, get in the car at any hour day or night and just go somewhere. I could color my own hair and cook a simple meal for friends, go for walks around Lake Merritt. Basically I could do anything. It took just a little more time and effort, learning new ways to remember how to perform tasks which were once simple muscle memory.

When I found myself in a situation where my being helped was inevitable, I fell back on the grace argument. I was a live opportunity for strangers, family, and friends to do their good deeds for their day. I was the instrument by which they could practice being good, kind, attentive people. I was their chance to feel good about themselves. But at that time I rarely needed help. And I had something of a pact with close friends and family to verbalize when I did want or need help and on their parts, to ask before charging in and taking control.

Now I'm facing a different dilemma. I rely on family and friends' help as a matter of course. I frequently get a hand up when rising from a chair; I get help tying my shoes and taking on and off my jacket; when friends come over, I let them loose in the kitchen to prepare and cook the meal and to clean up afterwards; to get down the hill in the parking lot of the YMCA I take Greg's arm so I won't fall.

The balance has changed. Help is no longer a matter of being the object of someone's good will. The issue is accepting the help I now literally need, that I couldn't do without. And conversely I can no longer offer what little help I still had to give, say, in the kitchen. At the holidays in particular when one is expected to and wants to chip in, not being able to is stressful and my earlier theory about my reason for being the object of people's kindness wears thin.

The game has gotten tougher, tougher than I expected. Of course, sometimes I stubbornly work at something, performing the task over and over again without success, but unwilling to give it up. It is still a battle to keep one's independence but it is now also a lesson in letting go, not judging yourself on the basis of your outward ability, but rather, reaching down inside for that deeper grace, the grace that lies under the surface grace.

And I imagine that the giving and accepting of help will become more lopsided in the future. So, my issue is how do you deal with your dis-ability as it increases at every level? I haven't yet figured out how to satisfactorily convey my gratitude to those who help me day in and day out. I don't think they are aware of how deeply I feel supported and blessed–and thankful–for their generosity.