Lonesome road
Around Christmastime, I had to return a big blanket to Costco. It was huge and super soft, and Annie was holding it for me while we waited in line.She would slide her arms in the middle of the blanket, telling me how warm and perfect it was, pleading to keep it. No, we didn’t need it. When we got to the front of the line, we returned it.Time to go home.We walked through the door of my house, and Annie’s pod failed. When this happens, it makes a high-pitched screeching noise that is pretty terrible. We had JUST put a new one on! They normally last three days, but I knew why this one stopped working. It was the blanket.For some reason, static electricity causes her insulin pods to fail. And this time was no different.I was upset and started lecturing her on WHY she can’t do things like that, and HOW she needs to know better and be better...and on and on.Thankfully, in the midst of my parenting tirade, I looked over at her. Her eyes were full of tears, her head hung low, and I could physically see the burden of type 1 diabetes weighing her down.I stopped talking. My heart broke. I went over and hugged her, and I listened. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to be healthy. She wanted to be just like everybody else.Oh, my heart. I held her as she cried and cried.My mind went back several years before, when she was first diagnosed with diabetes. I was talking to my dad, and listing all the hardships I was enduring trying to take care of Annie. He said something that had a profound effect (eventually) on my outlook.”Remember, this is Annie’s trial, not yours.”At the time, his words felt untrue. Annie was barely two years old! I checked her sugars, counted her carbohydrates, treated her low blood sugars, corrected her highs, gave shots, learned how to work an insulin pump, and a million other things. It certainly felt like a burden to me.But as time has gone on, his words have stayed in my mind. He was right. She is much more self sufficient. All the things I did for her, she does now. Diabetes is HER challenge, not mine.I’ve been thinking more and more about this particular truth. We all have unique challenges. And that burden we carry can be a lonesome road.I have learned a couple of things from raising Annie.One is the importance of EMPATHY. It’s really crucial that we learn to empathize with those around us. We need to put ourselves in their shoes, try to understand and feel how they feel. When we do that, our behavior changes. Our choices aren’t so selfish, and we consider others before acting.Amazing, right?The second lesson I learned was the importance of KINDNESS.Annie helped me realize that we cannot see what happens behind closed doors. She NEVER has a breakdown in front of anyone else. So people will often comment how mature she is, or how well she manages diabetes. Yes, she is and she does. But the pain and sorrow she feels is often hidden.Kindness matters. Everyone has a story, peppered with individual pain and trials. The least we can do is be nice. Kindness isn’t the cure for diabetes, but it certainly can lift a little girl who has it.
