**While rummaging through the contents of my phone's "Notes" app, I found this partially written post. Rather than finishing it, I'm leaving it as is.**
There are times I still catch myself asking "why? Why us? Why him? He's so young."
Usually these are times when I'm looking at the clock and trying to decide if we can make it to the grocery store and get back home before it's snack time. Or it's when I'm putting his Humalog carrying case in his backpack. Or it's when I'm eating dinner an hour and a half after he does, and he asks me for a bite and says "I like taste. Just one bite?" And I have to fish out carrots & celery to give him some "free" bites. Sometimes it's when I drop him off at day care and other kids are running around with their plastic snack cups filled with cereal-- something Michael was doing just days before his diagnosis. It's times like these when I feel that lump start to form in my throat.
It's times like these when I think that other kids have it easy. Their parents don't worry about whether or not they should eat a snack before bed-- my kid requires one. Their parents don't have to think about how long it's been since their child ate his last bite of food. In the middle of the night when they cry, their parents don't worry if they're crying because their blood sugar is low. When they want a bite of their parent's bowl of ice cream, the parent probably doesn't think twice before holding out the spoon. At breakfast time when the oatmeal is waiting on the counter, their parents don't seek out ways to entertain them for 15 minutes as they wait to recheck a blood sugar after correcting a low.
And I'm not angry at any of these parents nor their children. They can't help it that they don't have type 1. I'm just saddened that these carefree moments have been stripped from us. Everything must be so carefully planned out now.