Fixing my faith.

The day Ryan passed away, it broke.

For the six months preceding, I had amazing faith.  My faith reflected the way I lived every day.  Hope staring back at me was my norm.

My faith was clear.  It was clean.   It was shiny.  It was good.  My mirror of faith was framed in hope, and was most definitely part of who I was.

When Ryan passed, you can imagine my horror when I found my faith on the floor, broken into a thousand pieces.

I looked myself square in the eye every day in that mirror, and suddenly the image I relied on was completely distorted and broken every whit.

I'm not sure how it happened.  In the past when I was faced with hard times, the mirror only got stronger...brighter.  I was embarrassed it was such a mess, and more than anything, I was completely disappointed in myself.  Would I ever be able to rely on my faith again?  I had no idea it was so fragile.

Putting the pieces back together was a process.  Each piece I picked up I had to ask myself, "Do I really believe this?"

Some pieces I had to set back down for awhile.  I couldn't make it part of me if I wasn't sure.

I had to ask myself what my life would look like without that piece.  Would it be ok to go through life without believing this?

I got discouraged quickly.  A few small pieces I took ownership of right out of the gate...but many many more lay before me waiting.  The largest, simplest pieces turned out to be the hardest to claim.

The largest piece:  Do I believe in heaven?  Man.  I really had to search my soul on that one.  Of course I always did...but with Ryan gone, this question became REAL.  It became tangible.  I had to know the truth.  Believing wasn't enough for me.  Could I live my life thinking I would never see Ryan again?  I'm sure I could...but what kind of life would that be?  The obvious answer to that one for me was: Miserable.  But also, I didn't want to believe just for the sake of "wanting" to.  I wanted to believe because I really DID believe.  It was all or nothing.

Did I believe Ryan was in heaven and I'd see him again, or not?

Thankfully, I didn't have to put the pieces together all by myself.

I asked for God's help, and he gently fixed me. 

As I studied my faith, shattered at my feet, I was relieved one day to realize that my reflection was still pure and intact, individually in each and every piece.  It took time to put the pieces together, but once I got the big ones in their place, all the little ones easily followed.

Since then, the mirror once again is a perfect reflection of my faith.  It is not what it was before, but it is real.  It is true.  It is stronger.  I think it is even better, because I put in the work.  Like a child's artwork...I appreciate the time and effort I put into it.

I'm whole again.  And that wholeness is the result of my testimony.

I know that there is a heaven.

I know Ryan is there.

I know Ryan is busy, and happy and living.

I know that I can't wait to be with him again.  It is a surreal feeling not being afraid to die...actually looking forward to dying.

I know  I have to stay and take care of my family...no worries I'm not planning on going anywhere!  But if I'm being honest, by his side is where I really want to be.

Another thing I know:

Ryan wants me to be happy.  He doesn't want me to be miserable.

He's let me know this often, in quiet ways.

So I try hard to respect that.  When I cry...and yeah, I still cry a lot,  I imagine him looking at me.  "We'll be together soon.  Everything will be ok, I promise."

I try hard to find joy every day...to not waste this experience we have on earth.  I pray for that specifically every night.  Because in a twisted way, I know that if Ryan checks up on me, he will be miserable if I am miserable.

At first I thought when I laughed, or found some kind of happy, that he would think that I don't miss him.  But if there is anything I truly know, it is that Ryan knows how much I love him.  He knows without a doubt how much I miss him...because he misses me that much too.

So now I laugh, and I laugh hard.  Or I try to anyway.  Sometimes I laugh and I cry.  I think that's ok too.

I look for joy.

I look up every chance I get.

I hold onto my obsession with the sky.  When I look at it, it is a firm testimony that God lives.  It is like a little glimpse of heaven...and it brings me so much peace.

Over and over again I am gently told, "It's okay."

And thankfully, now that I've put my faith back together...I can not only hear it, but I can see it clearer, too.

Funny thing mirrors.  We can't see where we are going in them, we can only see what is in front of us right now, and where we've been.

As much as I want to see my future, that isn't how faith works.  Faith is working on yourself today, doing the best you can with the now, and letting go of the worry of tomorrow.

That's my story anyway.

Faith precedes the miracle.

I have faith.  My future will hold the miracle.  

I really do believe that.

Try.

It is no secret that I spend a lot of time at my keyboard.  The brightness of the screen is my office space.  This corner of the couch is my desk.

Some days I don't want to do anything.  I sit here staring at the blinking cursor on my screen and wish I could just curl up in the warmth of my keyboard and take a sabbatical from my life.

But as a mother, I'm not allowed to completely lose myself  in the online world for too long, so I look for motivators to get me up and moving.

I think you all know I love the written word.  Words are what propel me forward.  Words are powerful.  So it shouldn't come as much of a surprise to any of you that my keyboard looks like this.

I have a ring that says, "Hope."

I have three bracelets:  One that says "Courage."  One that says "Expect Miracles." And the last that says "You can do this."

Next to me there is long piece of metal that says, "Faith Hope Love."

In front of me there is a bright red sign that reads, "Keep Calm and Carry on."

There is a plaque on the mantle that says, "When I count my blessings, I count you twice."

There is another plaque by the calendar, "We might not have it all together, but together we have it all."

These are my reminders.

Reminders that I am blessed and need to keep moving.  That I CAN keep moving.  I read them every day.  I have to pump myself up EVERY day.  Each morning a new process of believing in myself begins.

Which leads me to today.  This very moment, actually.  I promised myself I'd head over to the college today to talk about programs that might work for me.

Hibernation sounds really appealing right now.

I don't know why I'm so emotional about this.  Taking this step seems easy enough...but there is a wall.

I think the wall is fear.

Riding home from bringing the boys to school I listened to that song that, in our area anyway, plays over and over and over again...but on this day the lyrics continue to echo in my ears...

"Just because it burns doesn't mean you're gonna die.  You gotta get up and try."

I knew I needed to write those words down and actually LOOK at them.

And now that I have, I'm going to get up.  I'm going to go rekindle my relationship with the treadmill.  And then I will shower and I will drive over to the college and I will walk into the door and I will ask for help.

Man, I'm such a baby.  Why are the tears so flipping relentless?

I don't think the fear stems from the actual act of going to the college.  I think it is the act of walking towards a new life, and away from the old one.

Thinking about that burns.

But I'm not going to die.

So after I publish this....I'm going to get up and try.

Inspiring.

I had a discussion with Chris on his Just Talking podcast the other day, part of which focused on the idea that I am an inspiration.  (You can find it in its entirety, HERE.)

I wasn't able to articulate my feelings the way I wanted to, so I thought I'd turn here to try to explain my take on this.

I'm often told I'm inspiring, and it completely throws me.  Is "enduring" inspiring?  Is muddling my way through, inspiring? 

Ask my family...I'm no big deal.

What is it about surviving that is inspiring?

I really feel like everyone is inspiring.  That is why I encourage everyone to start a blog, or at least find other peers to connect with.  Your story means something, and will effect others.  Everyone is going through something.  Everyone is fighting against the odds of this world, does the fact that I live my life out loud on this blog really make me more inspiring than the next guy?

I'm laying it out on the table.  YOU are inspiring too.  You.  You who has "only" one child with diabetes.  You who got up this morning even though your spirit begged you not to.  You, who works a job that you don't love, or can't find a job at all, or stays at home and is completely underappreciated because of it.

All of you.

I see people with many years under their belt who walk down the street, with obvious wear and tear written all over their face.  What is their story?  I bet if you sat down with them for an hour you would be blown away.  Their tales are powerful, as are yours.  Putting your story out there can make a difference in someone else's life.  We all know that there isn't such a thing as a simple life.  Why do you try to labels yours as such?

Is it the fact that I didn't fold and give up on life?  Is that why I'm inspiring?

 

I don't fold, because I take one step at a time, just like you do.  Looking at my life in front of me is daunting.  I have a dear friend named Dov who has just celebrated 5 years of survivorship with terminal cancer.  He has endured treatments for those five years that seem unfathomable.  But yet in every sense of the word he LIVES, and he is called an inspiration by all because of it, (me included.  Which is funny/ironic to both of us that we see the other as inspiring, but don't see it in ourselves.)  In his own words Dov says, "We had no idea what was before us.  A true gift in many ways.  Had we known, would we have had the strength to continue forward into the pain that awaited?  I would like to think yes.  I would like to believe that I would still have the determination to step forward down the path that lay before me, but I fear that would be nothing but a pleasant lie to feed my ego.  In truth, I think I only...I think we only, found the strength to deal with each step as we made it.  As we told each other early on, reciting lines from a book we read to our 3 year old: Can't go over it,  can't go under it,  can't go around it,  gotta go through it.  We don't do it out of courage, we do it out of necessity.  We don't do it out of strength, we do it out of dogged determination.  We don't do it to inspire, we do it because there is simply no other choice." 

 

Like Dov and his family, I feel like I have no other choice but to move forward and rise above the aching and the hurt.  When hard things are put in your path, you do the same too.

 

Maybe I'm "inspiring" because I always try to see the good in things.  I wonder if I'm hardwired that way, or if it is simply a coping mechanism.  I'm not sure why I try to spin everything towards hope...maybe it was Ryan's influence, maybe it is my faith, but if that is why I am inspiring to you, then I will own it.

If I help you look for the better?  If I help you to look up  at the sky?  If I help you look at your day a little more brightly?

Then, like a boss...I'll accept I'm inspiring.

But here is the thing...

You can be just as inspiring as me.  Not only CAN you be, you already are.

I know you are going through things.  Or have been through things.  Or will go through things.  Life is freaking hard.  But you get up, and do what needs to be done.  And for that I give you a standing ovation.

You are a fighter.  You wouldn't be here right now if you weren't.  You wouldn't be checking in here if you weren't trying to find something to connect with.  You are reaching out to the universe, even if it is silently.   The thing is, your presence needs to be felt beyond your front door...you are valuable. 

"But I'm just coping," you say.

"But I'm just doing what has to be done," you say.

I say those things too, friend. 

We are no different.

I'm inspired every day by people just like you.  Don't underestimate your wonderfulness.

Don't hide your light.

You are freaking awesome.  I'm sure of it. 

You walk through life thinking you haven't accomplished much, but when was the last time you turned around and really looked at how far you've come?  How far you traveled?  How much you have overcome?

So stop pointing your fingers at me, and start looking in the mirror.

You are an inspiration.

And if you haven't heard it in awhile,  I want to say thank you for being so.

Anatomy of a high.

He walked into the room, his face ashen white. 

"Mom, I'm 578."

My mind began to race, tracing our history for the last few hours.  We had taken a three hour tour of the coastal shores.  L had peed three times in that amount of time, and sipped contentedly on two water bottles from the cooler.  We dined on sandwiches while watching the magnificent sunset, but since he was high and feeling it, L decided to pass on them until he came down. 

Except he hasn't come down.

Blood Ketones: 4.7

Though these days are few and far between, we both knew the sick day protocol and sprung silently into our collective roles.  He changed into his pajamas and grabbed a bowl and a large water bottle from the cupboards.  I grabbed a big soft blanket and arranged the ketone strips and One touch strips within reach.  He lay next to me as the miserableness began to slowly creep into his stomach.

"Mom, I'm going to throw up."

I rubbed his back until the feeling passed.  He sipped purposely on his water and I rechecked his blood sugar, noting the sorry state of his fingertips.

600.

Crap.

"Sorry babe, we have to pull it."

As I peeled back the infusion set I find the culprit of our woes, the cannula is bent in half.  I changed this set at 2:30.  It was now 9:00, and he has been without insulin for a full 6 and a half hours.  I smile at L and walk casually to the cupboard, deliberately trying not to scare him. I can't remember the last shot I had to give him by syringe.  He isn't going to be happy.

As I explain to him what must be done, a set change and a shot of insulin, I see firsthand where the saying, 'stiff upper lip' comes from.  He closes his large round eyes, lifts his chin and wills his bravery to take over.  I slip the needle smoothly into his arm and he says, "Tell me when you do it."

I had already done it.  Win.

And then he throws up.

At this point the fear begins to creep up my back, but I wink at him telling him the worst is over.  I take the bowl away to clean it up and in an instant I'm taken to that dark place.  The place where worry reigns and your body is paralyzed from the thoughts of what could be.  The hospital?  No.  I will not take him there unless I must.  Taking him there would mean I give up all control.  I shake those thoughts away...don't get ahead of yourself, Meri.  We aren't anywhere near there yet.

A recheck shows we are in the 400's.  Ketones are descending...we are going in the right direction.  The light of hopefulness fuels me to keep up the work.   Insulin.  Fluids.  Insulin.  Fluids.

It took four hours, but I got him down to 140 with .4 ketones.  It was 1 am when I allowed myself a nap. 

The alarm relentlessly gawked an hour and a half later, until I succumbed to its cry.

48 with 0.4 ketones.  I took a deep cleansing sigh, grateful I passed on the sleeping pill tonight.  I've slept through too many alarms as of late, I knew tonight was too important. 

Apple juice, apple juice.  Deep down I knew the apple juice would bring him up, and not keep him up.  I've always known it.  But I talk myself into thinking it will be fine.  Hundreds of families treat with apple juice only...and look!  An hour later he is 136!  I will set my alarm for another hour and see what happens.

But as happens when you are deliriously exhausted, and don't have a husband to nudge you out of bed...I somehow slumbered through my gawking alarm.  Vivid dreams took over.  Fear can try to keep me up all night, but faith that everything will be ok makes one fine pillow.  I was carried away in the happiness of my dreamy state and didn't wake up until 6am.

Where he was found to be 56 with 1.7 ketones.

He opened his eyes and smiled wryly at me.  "How many times did you check me last night?"

"Just a couple times my sweetness."

He pulled his legs under himself and swung his arms lovingly around my shoulders, causing me to almost lose my balance on the edge of the bunk bed.

"I'm so lucky to have an angel mom.  Thank you for taking care of me."

As I breathed in his genuine expression of love and thankfulness, all the worry from last night melted into adoration.

"You're staying home with me today, handsome.  You are the king of the castle.  Name any breakfast and it's yours."

And as he poured his own cereal with his hands still dimpled from the last breaths of babydom, I witnessed true love in action.

We faced our fear last night.  Though it seems facing fears has become part of our normal these days.  I won't allow the fear to turn our life into one of self pity...in fact I vow to use it to make us stronger.  There is a quote, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it."  That is our quest.  To master our fears and conquer each one.  One at a time.  One day at a time.

Though when ketones are present...one minute at a time.

Ode to sleep

Oh, sleep.

Oh, solitude for my weary soul.

Oh, peaceful hideaway for my swelly brain.

Oh, comfort for my buzzing body.

Oh, how I miss thee.

Your warm embrace and kind face.

Your soft welcoming when I need a friend most.

The host to my party of calm.

The right that fixes all the wrong.

Oh, sleep.

Why must your tethers of understanding be just out of my grasp?

Why must diabetes rob us of our reunion?

Why must I stand by your side unable to partake in your goodness?

Why do you wink at me so?

You know  how I long for you.

You must know you are always on my mind.

You have to know it is you I would run to if I could.

Oh, sleep.

Reach out your hand and take me in.

Envelope me in your kindness, your warmth, your justice.

Let the dreams swirl around me and take away the reality.

Drown the hurt in your melody.

Soothe the scars with your restful salve.

Let peace reign.

Let me rest.

Rest.

Rest.

Oh, good sleep. 

One day I will be in your arms again.

One day I will partake.  I will drink in every last ounce of your goodness.

One day.

Until then, adieu.

Think of me too?

Pray for our reuniting.

I will soldier through this day, and relish my glimpse of you tonight.

Oh, sleep.

Oh, how I love thee.

I will brightly endure the middle place a bit longer. 

Not awake.  Not asleep.

Until our time together comes...

Wait for me.

48 Questions: Getting to know Meri

Cherise over at DSMA suggested the DOC get to know each other better by answering these 48 questions.  I'm down with that.  Get to know little ol' me, and consider answering them yourself!

 

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

 

I was named after a character on a Soap Opera.  Because anything other than that would have been normal.

 

 

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

 

The day before yesterday, midnight, in bed, during a very one-sided conversation with Ryan.

 

 

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

 

My handwriting is pretty freaking awesome...for the first three or four words, then it's all downhill from there.

 

 

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?

 

If I'm at the deli, I'll most always choose chicken breast.  At home, I'd go with the honey ham.

 

 

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

 

I have four boys around here somewhere...

 

 

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?

 

Depends on who I was.  If I was another mom at school, sure.  I'm nice enough.  If I was a D Mom, sure.  I'd pick my brain.  But if I was the woman that cut me off in front of drugstore today, then no...because I gave her the look of death, and if I was on the other side of that look, I'd be scared....and wouldn't like me at all.

 

 

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?

 

No, I'm perfect.   Ok.  Maybe yes.

 

 

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?

 

Yup.   Though I wish I didn't .  They have caused me all sorts of trouble.

 

 

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?

 

Hell to the no.  I love roller coasters, but that first giant drop...you know, the one where you climb for 20 minutes and then drop straight down at?  That feeling in your stomach?  THAT feeling is my worst nightmare, and I believe bungee jumping is all about that feeling.  So again.  No.  Hell no.

 

 

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?

 

I'm a Crispix fan.  I also will dabble in the occasional Fruit Loop a couple times a year.  My favorite childhood cereal was Halfsies.  Do you remember those?  They were seriously the bomb.

 

 

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

 

I work really really hard NOT to buy shoes with laces.  I don't have time for that.  But my work out shoes do tie, and I do untie them, and retie them snuggly so my foot isn't  rolling around them when I'm doing my thing.

 

 

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?

 

In some ways I'm Hercules.  In others I'm Olive Oyl.

 

 

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?

 

I'm a Baskin Robbins fan:  Mint Chip and Gold Medal Ribbon.  Otherwise at home I'm a vanilla kinda girl.

 

 

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

 

Their eyes.  People with kind eyes are my favorite.

 

 

15. RED OR PINK?

 

Hands down, red.  I'm not a pink girl, though I am trying to embrace my inner girl these days, which means a little pink here and there.

 

 

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?

 

My extra poundage.

 

 

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?

 

There is this guy.  I miss him every minute of every day.

 

 

18. WHAT IS THE TECHNIQUE THAT YOU NEED TO WORK ON THE MOST?

 

Whatever technique it is that will get my boys to aim properly.

 

 

19. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?

 

I am not wearing shoes, or socks.  And that is just how I like it.  A big problem as of late has been having cold feet at night.  Ryan used to warm them up for me, and now he can't.  Wearing socks to sleep isn't ideal either.  My uber sweet friend April gave me an electric blanket for my birthday last week to fix this very problem.  She is currently on the top of my favorites list.

 

 

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

 

Popcorn.   I wish I could say chocolate chip cookies, but after taking out all the ingredients to make some, I realized we are out of milk.  And cookies without milk is a big fail in my book.

 

 

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

 

Eric Clapton:  Wonderful Tonight.

 

 

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

 

Red, true Red.  There just aren't enough true Red crayons in this world.  There are a million of those purpley red ones though.

 

 

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?

 

The perfume Ryan gave me for Mothers Day last year, Eau Tendre made by Chanel.  Also, the smell of onions sautéing...or just dinner cooking in general.

 

 

24. HOW IMPORTANT ARE YOUR POLITICAL VIEWS TO YOU?

 

I'm smart enough to have views, and smart enough to have them from either side of the aisle.  Politics are the last thing I need to worry about right now.  Besides, politicians are at the bottom of my list right now.

 

 

25. MOUNTAIN HIDEAWAY OR BEACH HOUSE?

 

Both.  If there is a view of a sunset, or a sunrise...I'm in.

 

 

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

 

Back when I was a teenager I was a basketball fanatic.  Jordan was the air that I breathed.  Now, I don't watch basketball as I learned the entire game is determined in the last two minutes.  San Francisco Giants baseball, however...I am a big fan of.  I even know the players names.

 

 

27. HAIR COLOR?

 

Blond and light brown.

 

 

28. EYE COLOR?

 

Green.  My mom says they are blue.  My mom is wrong.

 

 

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

 

No.  My vision has always been pretty awesome. 

 

 

30. FAVORITE FOOD?

 

Homemade chocolate chip cookies.

 

 

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

 

Happy Endings.  Always.

 

 

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

 

Les Miserables.  I didn't know anything of the story, and was enthralled with the entire thing.  Once Russell Crow pinned that medal on that dead boy's jacket...I was a complete wreck.

 

 

33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?

 

A chocolate brown sweater.

 

 

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?

 

Summer.  But Summer here in Northern California.  Not Arizona summer.  Not Florida summer.  Only CALIFORNIA summer.

 

 

35. FAVORITE DESSERT?

 

I already answered this under favorite food.  What kind of questions are these?  Are chocolate chip cookies not considered a food?  What the what?

 

 

36. STRENGTH TRAINING OR CARDIO?

 

Cardio.  Just because I haven't been taught the proper way to strength train.  I'm hoping to learn this year.

 

 

37. COMPUTER OR TELEVISION?

 

I've all but given up on TV.  My computer on the other hand is my BFF.

 

 

38. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?

 

I have Think Like a Pancreas sitting right next to me, waiting.

 

 

39. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

 

I don't own a mouse, and if I did I wouldn't give it its own pad.  I would kick it out on the street.  Mice are not welcome here.  (And I own a laptop.  Not a desktop.)

 

 

40. FAVORITE SOUND?

 

The sound when you break open a fresh bottle of insulin.  Ahhh...life.  That's the stuff!

 

 

41. FAVORITE GENRE OF MUSIC?

 

I like all music.  But right now I'm digging the Eagles Channel on Pandora radio.

 

 

42. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?

 

Germany.

 

 

43. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?

 

Yes.  :)

 

 

44. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

 

I was born in the same town I live in today.

 

 

45. WHERE ARE YOU LIVING NOW?

 

In the same town I was born in.

 

 

46. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR HOUSE?

 

Beige-y, yellow-y

 

 

47. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR CAR?

 

Light brown.

 

 

48. DO YOU LIKE ANSWERING 48 QUESTIONS?

 

I like blogging.  And since I am blogging this, I will say yes.  But really, this question is all kinds of insecure.  "Do you like me?  Do you REALLY like me????"  Now I'm ending this mean, and I hate that.  New answer:  Yes, 48 questions.  I like you!  You are ah-maz-ing!  Call me! 

 

(Man, I really do need to work on #7.)

 

Dear 42

Dear 42,

Hey.  W'sup.  When you showed up on our doorstep last week I have to admit I was taken back a bit.    I am sure we hadn't exchanged any kind of correspondence regarding a visit.  In fact, when I first saw your face I wasn't entirely sure who you were.   You looked very familiar...I just couldn't place when or where our paths had crossed before.  Since then I have come to terms with the fact that I probably blocked out our last meeting to save my sanity.  My swelly brain freely stores information, but sometimes it must dump the unpleasant to survive.  You're previous visits, I'm sure...we're duly dumped.  Well anyway, since you showed up last week, I can't get you off my mind.  So I am writing you this letter to clear the air.

Let me begin by saying, I'm really a nice person.  Seriously, people like me...and even more than that...I like people!  I don't generally judge anyone as a rule. I am polite, and pleasant, and courteous.  Sure, I'm a little sassy too, but when I speak to those that are all but strangers to me, I hold it as a general rule not to "call them out" as it were.

But in this case, I must make an exception.  In fact, your visit has been on my mind so much, this letter is an absolute necessity.

All of the above written as a caveat so I can say what I really want to say.  And that is this: 

You suck. 

If you ever show your face around here again, I will juice you.

Try one more time to touch one ounce of blood in my boy's body and you will wish you were a 330 eradicated by insulin.

I have glucagon, and I swear I am not afraid to use it.

Crawl back into your cave of hypoglycemic woe and live a long miserable life alone like the vermin you are.

Do not try to be our friend.

Do not call.  Do not write.  And with all the trueness and genuineness in my heart I say:  Wanna stop by?  OH HELL NO!

Call me an anti-low-ite if you must, but your kind is not welcome here.

I am your worst nightmare.  I am a D-Mom.   And I will win any confrontation you begin.  I will rise my son out of the ashes of misery created by your fire.  Together we will turn you into a completely different figure altogether.  A figure so far off than yourself, you won't even recognize who you are in just 10 minutes time.

You will be shamed by the other low numbers.  You will bring no honor to your 42.

So beat it.

Scram.

Go on.  GET OUTTA HERE!

Find a bowling alley to cause misery.

Or a highway somewhere in Iowa.

Tack yourself on the end of our already sky high gas prices for all I care.

Just don't come here, into my son's day.

Ever.

You think you're scary? You don't want to meet me alone at the bedside late at night. If you were to find me there, you would find out the real definition of scary. That's all I'm sayin'.  Sorry to be so harsh, but it is my job to protect my son.  You understand.  Right? 

Sincerely,

P.S. Did you do something new to your hair?  It looks like hell.