A Look Back and A Look Ahead

Another year is quickly shuttering.  As I peek into the 2015 window full of exhilarating, wonderful and exciting possibilities, I can't help but to reflect on where we are TODAY. 

That is, after all, one of my biggest life lessons since T1d came into our lives; Live in the now.  

This is a biggie.  The kind of lesson that if you are like me, you learn when you are thrust into a life-changing, permanently altered universe.  This is the realization that all too often 'now' is gone before you even get a moment to blink.  

Today, my 'now' is this; the Naturally Sweet Sisters are growing up in leaps and bounds.  Not just in the realization that they are both almost my height and shoe size, but I am reminded by that as my phone and Facebook is suddenly full of pictures of only youngest daughter.  Her sister, a teenager, is often without me and doing all of those glorious things that wonderfully independent teens do.  I am thankful too.  I wished for this when she was first diagnosed.  Even saying a small prayer in hopes that her life would be just as it would have regardless of T1d.  As we continue through each year, I see this wish coming true, over and over.  Even if it is hard on my motherly heart, I am forever grateful for this.

I appreciate my stolen moments while I check oldest daughter's blood sugar as she sleeps, whispering 'I love you' and hearing as she sleep-talks into saying, "I love you too".  I love hearing her as she asks my advice on how to handle a situation or if her outfit is alright.  She makes my heart soar with pride and at the exact same time, has taught me that I still need to grow a bit more in order to learn of how to cope with those teenaged mood swings.  After all, as all of my friends gleefully point out, I have TWO girls headed into deep growing years.  I have to learn to cope.

At this moment, I have been given another gift of spending a little alone time with her younger sister.  We have declared our upcoming year, the "Year of Adventure" and together, youngest daughter loves planning fun day trips with mom, dad and sister (when she is not busy) to museums, shows or even just long walks around our town.  She tells me everything and I savor her words as they are filled with joy and happiness that only eleven years can bring.  Every moment is truly an adventure.

Which brings me to the realization that I have learned to let go a bit more.  Mostly of the mad hold that I had on T1d care.  I loosened the reins and I made decisions to help the girls learn through their own triumphs and failures.  College is now part of our lexicon and I realize that I have a little more than four years before that becomes a reality.  In a way, achieving their independence has become a long-term goal of my parenting.  I know they will need to make critical decisions and understand the ins and outs of daily care from supply ordering to pump settings changes and a million carb-insulin-activity-induced decisions in-between.  

At this exact moment, I know that I am not the person that I was eight years ago.  I have changed.  I have grown more into the person that I needed to be, but also the person that I wanted to be.  Ironically, T1d gave me both heartbreak and strength.  I also recognize with giddy anticipation that there is more yet to be accomplished.  While the girls may need me less that has offered the possibilities of finding personal fulfillment.  I traveled without the family, spoke passionately to others about my personal platform of improving patient/family care and met many other deeply committed shareholders both with and without T1D.  Like peeling layers of an onion, there is so much more than 'mother' in my circle of reference.  I am feeling it for the first time.

And with that, I welcome 2015.  

Merry Christmas

With Love,
The Naturally Sweet Sisters

Teaching Daughters and Security Guards

Last night, a dear friend gifted us a four-pack of tickets to see a local basketball game.  Without hesitation, our family accepted with grateful hearts because for the first time in many weeks, we could go without having to hurry back for school projects, work deadlines or any of the other million of things that constantly consume our daily lives.  The gift wasn't just about a basketball game, but more about the opportunity to do something fun while relaxing together.

Once we arrived, oldest daughter and the Naturally Sweet dad, raced ahead with their longer legs to enter in through security and ticket scanning.  They had their tickets and youngest daughter and I had our own set safely tucked into our pockets.

However, once in the security line, things rapidly slowed as three of us carry purses.  Mine was simple enough with a quick scan, but our daughters had to pause to pull out their test kits and open those to show what was inside.  Youngest daughter and I made a few jokes as that extra time allowed us to catch back up with the long-legged crew.

Moving through the line past security and suddenly, another security officer reached over and stopped my husband.  Pointing at his outer coat pocket, he motioned for the Naturally Sweet dad to take out his water bottle and toss it into a big bin marked for prohibited stadium items.  The Naturally Sweet dad, a true follower of all rules, turned to our oldest daughter and motioned for her to do the same.

Catching all of this as I looked ahead, I hurried through the line and started to yell, "NO!  Wait!  That water is for our daughters.  They are allowed to bring that in for their medical condition."

Oldest daughter looked at me and I could tell that she wished for nothing more than for her mother to stop talking and possibly wither away.  (And maybe I should have because we do have the luxury of being able to afford buying another beverage within the stadium.)  However, I just couldn't.  This was suddenly a teaching moment.

Instead, I calmly but forcefully explained section 504 of the ADA to the security guard and then, to the two others that came to make sure that we were not causing too much trouble.

In a matter of minutes, both water bottles were properly returned to our family and we were allowed in without further hesitation.  Oldest daughter seemingly forgot her embarrassment at mom and was back to giggling and joking with the rest of the family.

After we took our seats and were casually watching the warm-up to the game, oldest daughter leaned over to me with a conspiratorial wink and said, "That was pretty cool, mom."

I smiled back and said, "Thank you.  I am glad you are having fun."

"Not that, mom... The security guard.  You really knew your stuff."  She smiled again and suddenly seemed proud that I was able to represent our family.

We then talked a bit about her future and how diabetes tended to make events tricky.  I admitted that I also didn't like to have to stand up for our rights and that I wished (must like anyone else) that we could just sail through without having to say anything.  I also explained that one day, I knew that oldest daughter would be without me and that one bottle of water might be the only access that she would have during her time away from home.  What if her blood sugar was struggling that day, causing dehydration or ketones?  If she let the first 'no' stop her, the situation could quickly escalate to needing emergency services or worse.

While the basketball game will most likely be forgotten in the grand scheme of life, I am sure that the security guard incident (as we know call it), will be remembered for many years to come.