November 30, 2008. The day I took Tristan to Urgent Care, expecting IV fluids for his nasty stomach virus, and they told me it was diabetes and an ambulance had been called to transfer him to the hospital.
A year ago today, I was rising after a fitful night of sleep, getting the girls ready for school, and then fighting rush hour traffic to get to the hospital on the other side of town.
A year ago, I thought our lives would never be normal again.
A year ago, I was scared senseless that I would lose my first born, my baby boy.
A year ago, I cried and cried and cried. I was amazed I had any tears left.
A year and a week ago, I fainted at the sight of needles.
A year ago, I learned to give my son shots.
And I cried through the whole process.
One year later, the boy is healthy and happy. Well, as happy as any 8th grade boy will admit to being. He's playing in the Jazz Band at school (sax), plus symphonic band (clarinet). He's a Life Scout (one away from Eagle). He went to church camp and scout camp over the summer, then diabetes camp.
He belches at the dinner table. He refuses to clean his room. He picks on his sisters, but heaven help the outsider who does the same!
In short, we've found a new normal.
There have been tremendous blessings over the last year. People far and wide praying for us and loving us and letting me know, over and over, that I was NOT alone. Our church family has been wonderful, willing to learn what they need to know to keep our children safe. Our neighbors have done the same. The support has been overwhelming. I'm in awe of the people who care for us.
And yet, there are still a few pieces of my heart that I haven't been able to put back together.
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