Six years almost. Six years since Joe has been diagnosed. It is strange how a certain acceptance has developed. As I send him out on his bike, on in-line skates, on foot into our community, as I tuck him into bed at night, as I drop him off at school ... a teeny-tiny part of my heart and my brain is always aware and somewhat prepared for the possibility that I may not see him again.
The kids were out in the 'hood playing with their friends. Joe was squirting a hose into a gaggle of girls squealing their protests. I was prepping dinner by laying out the leftovers on the kitchen island. Dave walked in from his day of work.
This was last evening.
Me: "Good day?"
*Or I think he said "yeah". I was only half listening.*
Me: "Kids had a good first day of school...Bridget loves middle school ... Joe said his day was boring...blah...blah...blah."
Me: "A child died last night. Seven year old. Diagnosed at two. Low or Dead In Bed. Parents slept through a night check alarm. Found him in the morning."
Dave: "Can you imagine?"
Then, we went there. We went to a place we haven't gone. Actually, it is something I had not thought about; one of us blaming the other for a missed night check and a gone Joe. We are human. We need sleep. This family is facing our worst fear; the death of their child. The night check ... done or not ... may or may not have prevented this death. The thought of struggling with "the blame" and "the guilt" while dealing with "the grief" is overwhelming.
Me: "We would not blame one another... would we?"
Dave: "How could you not 'go there' ?"
Me: "I guess you are right ..."
A day-in-the-life conversation between my husband and I, as we parent a child with Type 1 Diabetes.