Wine Bottling, Sort Of

It's a wine bottling day today. People will start arriving to help in a few minutes, right about the time I post this blog entry. There will end up being about 7 or 8 of us, if you include me. These days I am less and less able to help in this process. The group has been doing it long enough now that they not only don't need my help, but often prefer that I be out of the way so they can get things done.

I get that. In fact I have encouraged that, the functioning of social gatherings like this where I can be less of a participant and more of an observer. I'm getting what I wanted, what I asked for, where my friends can do what I would do, only doing it for me instead of with me. Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it. I know I should be happy, but I am not.

Depressed, that's what I am. Saddened by the reality of my inability to do what I used to do, to be what I used to be. My big contribution for today is location, equipment, and the ribs I am making in the slow cooker. I will do no filtering. I will do no bottling. I will do no cleaning or preparing. All of that is beyond me now. At best I will help putting on labels, but reality dictates that I will need someone doing it with me. I can't keep up.

Happy, that is what I should be. I should be happy that they are coming, and I am. I should be happy that they are helping, and I am. I should be happy that my friends are still willing to be with me in such large numbers and so often, and I am. It's just hard to shake this underlying feeling of loss, of wishing I did not have this disease, of wishing I could still take charge and get the work done.

One of the toughest things I face these days is accepting the ever increasing limits on my ability, the ever diminishing circle of my ability, the persistent decline. Even in something I enjoy so much as making and bottling with, along with the social engagement that goes with it, there is the constant reminder that I have ALS, and it is getting worse day by day.