Give a Little
It's September, and right along with the flurry of school forms, soccer schedules, lunches being packed, there it is, the reminder that the T1D Fundraiser Walk is coming up at the end of the month.
Every September for the past 7 years, my friend whose son was diagnosed at such a young age, sends friendly, inspiring, uplifting and encouraging emails about raising money and supporting her son and all of us Diabetics at a wonderfully organized walk in the park.
And every year this makes me cry.
I'll be honest, a lot makes me cry these days. I'm an emotional wreck mixed with a little anxiety fueled at times by sugars 285 or higher. And these blood sugar readings are a likely story for a pre-menopausal, Diabetic, who overthinks alot. I'm 41, my children are growing faster than I knew was possible, I feel like a school bus in the summers, I'm struggling with a new pump (TSlim), my husband brought me flowers and wrote me a love note, my kids hopped on the bus first day, no issues just smiles, two close friends have just gotten a cancer diagnosis, my friend at work gave me two old boxes of Dexcom supplies because my insurance isn't covering it for me anymore. The president is crazy. It's too hot. And so on.
We call it getting our cries out in our home, and it helps. But the tears that fall every September, when I know the walk is coming up and on the day of the actual event, come from a place that any sick mom can understand. There is a quiet beauty in having your family just show up. No questions asked. They walk with friends and family in the park each year and know that their mom is a Diabetic. I don't doubt that they have thought about this in their own heads at different times in their lives, which makes me sad. Do they wish I was just a normal healthy mom? Do they wonder why the one thing in life that I don't share is the emergency apple juice in my purse? Do they worry that they will get Diabetes someday?
I try, sometimes to a fault, to get everyone to talk about everything. But as one of my favorite singers Alison Kraus, reminds us that sometimes, "you say it best when you say nothing at all."
I remember the kids piled in the back of the car one late September Saturday, and Enya's Sail Away was playing-which is a highly emotional song for me-anyone else? And the tears just flowed. I tried to talk through it, and reassure my kiddos that they were happy tears, or something like that. But it was graciousness, pride, love, fear, and sorrow all mixed into one big ugly cry moment in the car. The kids were wide-eyed and quiet-all of them-not fighting. Just taking it in.
Similar to what I do every year at this walk; I take it in. I see some of my students and their families walking and playing together, enjoying a day designed just for them. Free food, and juice, free t-shirts, and bounce houses. Free pamphlets and kind words. Everyone wants this damn disease to be gone. And everyone there at the park is trying in their own way to help. It is a beautiful day, and I so appreciate all of the efforts that go into making it possible, even though, I show up, donate what I can, and cry before the event.
But that's what I need to do, to get my cries out, show up, and teach the lessons of love, and giving, and caring for others, through the simple act of showing up at the park. When you are diagnosed with a chronic disease, it is hard to see the good all the time in what it does to your mind and your body, and hope. But on days like this in late September, it is a moment of clarity, and a moment of thankfulness and gratitude, and I am reminded that in the bizarre ways that unfortunate events work on the human psyche, a blessing.
Give to Max and T1D
Every September for the past 7 years, my friend whose son was diagnosed at such a young age, sends friendly, inspiring, uplifting and encouraging emails about raising money and supporting her son and all of us Diabetics at a wonderfully organized walk in the park.
And every year this makes me cry.
I'll be honest, a lot makes me cry these days. I'm an emotional wreck mixed with a little anxiety fueled at times by sugars 285 or higher. And these blood sugar readings are a likely story for a pre-menopausal, Diabetic, who overthinks alot. I'm 41, my children are growing faster than I knew was possible, I feel like a school bus in the summers, I'm struggling with a new pump (TSlim), my husband brought me flowers and wrote me a love note, my kids hopped on the bus first day, no issues just smiles, two close friends have just gotten a cancer diagnosis, my friend at work gave me two old boxes of Dexcom supplies because my insurance isn't covering it for me anymore. The president is crazy. It's too hot. And so on.
We call it getting our cries out in our home, and it helps. But the tears that fall every September, when I know the walk is coming up and on the day of the actual event, come from a place that any sick mom can understand. There is a quiet beauty in having your family just show up. No questions asked. They walk with friends and family in the park each year and know that their mom is a Diabetic. I don't doubt that they have thought about this in their own heads at different times in their lives, which makes me sad. Do they wish I was just a normal healthy mom? Do they wonder why the one thing in life that I don't share is the emergency apple juice in my purse? Do they worry that they will get Diabetes someday?
I try, sometimes to a fault, to get everyone to talk about everything. But as one of my favorite singers Alison Kraus, reminds us that sometimes, "you say it best when you say nothing at all."
I remember the kids piled in the back of the car one late September Saturday, and Enya's Sail Away was playing-which is a highly emotional song for me-anyone else? And the tears just flowed. I tried to talk through it, and reassure my kiddos that they were happy tears, or something like that. But it was graciousness, pride, love, fear, and sorrow all mixed into one big ugly cry moment in the car. The kids were wide-eyed and quiet-all of them-not fighting. Just taking it in.
Similar to what I do every year at this walk; I take it in. I see some of my students and their families walking and playing together, enjoying a day designed just for them. Free food, and juice, free t-shirts, and bounce houses. Free pamphlets and kind words. Everyone wants this damn disease to be gone. And everyone there at the park is trying in their own way to help. It is a beautiful day, and I so appreciate all of the efforts that go into making it possible, even though, I show up, donate what I can, and cry before the event.
But that's what I need to do, to get my cries out, show up, and teach the lessons of love, and giving, and caring for others, through the simple act of showing up at the park. When you are diagnosed with a chronic disease, it is hard to see the good all the time in what it does to your mind and your body, and hope. But on days like this in late September, it is a moment of clarity, and a moment of thankfulness and gratitude, and I am reminded that in the bizarre ways that unfortunate events work on the human psyche, a blessing.
Give to Max and T1D
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