I cried for two hours on the phone to my mom, mostly out of pure exhaustion. And then another two to my sister.
I try my hardest to stay positive in front of the children. Millie is so loving and sensitive. If I sniff, she asks me if I'm OK, often keeping her eye on me to make sure my sniffles don't become sobs. But last night I had reached my limit. I waited until dinner was served, excused myself and tiptoed to the office to release. It included a few punches to the mound of laundry yet to be folded and a few muffled screams from my gut.
Most of the time, I am hopeful about Millie's diabetes, but sometimes, I let my thoughts wander to the "what ifs" and the "whys" and the "hows." This may have been prompted as I worked on an end-of-the-year gift for her teacher, sifting through photos just weeks and months before she possibly became ill. I want so bad to go back to those care-free days, to erase the very point at which her cells became attacked. It's difficult to look at pictures and wonder, "Was she sick here?" Or to see something that should have signaled to us that she was sick and wonder, "Why didn't we catch that?" The signs were there, "Why didn't we see the big picture?"
And I get angry. I hate that nothing in her life from here forward will come easy for her. That everything ... dance, tennis, school, piano, sleepovers, trips to grandmas, vacations, birthday parties, receptions, meals ... will be a challenge for her. And I never dreamed of that for her. I had so many expectations, so many hopes ... for a perfectly healthy, happy life.
To which my mom replied, "Let it go. Let it go, Cori." (The second ever so lovingly yet stern.)
To which my sister replied, let it go.
To which my husband replied, let it go.
If I was the tattoo-acquiring type, I'd probably get that etched on my inner wrist, to look down and remind myself. Or for a loose translation, let The Beatles' "Let it Be" play in my head.
She will FIGHT. She will EARN her praises. She will be STRONG, a stronger person, and will be BETTER for it.
For those who have witnessed her taking her thrice-daily shots, who have seen her count her carbs, who have watched her prep her shot, they are amazed. It is obvious God has amazing things in store for her.
Life is not perfect. It is not fair. I thought I learned that a long time ago.