She is the one who weighs on my mind...her sweetness and grace...her sensitivity, at times an asset and at times a detriment...her table manners (ahhem; or lack there of)...her hot temper...her empathy...her animated discussions...her loud piercing screech that plagues my ears, sreaming at times of excitement and during periods of angst...her ideas, that come out one after another like rapid machine gun fire...her desire to help those in need and those less fortunate...she is BRIDGET. She is my daughter. She is my first born.
Her name means: Enduring Strength
How to even begin ... how has this life affected her? changed her? She is a willing participant in Joe's care, always desiring to learn more: how to check Joe's blood sugar number, how to bolus, how to carb count. She takes notes on his numbers, transcribes the "Diabetes" section of the World Book Encyclopedia into her polka dot notebook, and diligently studies the Calorie King. She once taped a glass pickle jar to her scooter and went door-to-door, unbeknownst to me, collecting money from neighbors for diabetes research...a sign asking "Please help us find a cure for Type 1" secured to her handle bars. I explained that a glass jar taped to the scooter was perhaps a dangerous choice for obvious reasons...so that ended that round of fundraising for her. This was no matter...you see, she has a whole list of back-up ideas and plans: selling tattoos, a lemonade stand, coins for a cure, cans for a cure...and on...and on.
This disease has had an impact on each of us...perhaps on Bridget more than all. The guilt weighs on me as a parent, it is heavy, it takes its toll. It hurts to be unable to shield her from the unfairness of the attention Joe receives with the day-in, day-out, hour-to-hour care and vigilance that type 1 demands of us...demands of us as a FAMILY. I know it is what it is. This is our journey, our story and it is meant to be. I hope we, as our story unfolds, as it progresses, and in the end...are the better for it...especially Bridget.