Waterworks

I cry. A lot actually. I can’t help it really as I’m just an emotional person. I have a big heart and things touch me in a way that often brings tears to my eyes — especially diabetes.

Let me elaborate: I don’t walk around crying, and I don’t cry at work, in professional settings and I especially don’t cry in baseball.

But when I’m alone, tears often form in the corners of my eyes. Sometimes, they disappear as quickly as they arrive. It can be something as simple as a song on the radio that evokes a particular memory. It can be while I’m praying and feel a peace inside. It can even be when I’m worn out, sleep deprived and exhausted. But either way, I’m full of waterworks.

But lately, I’ve shed lots of tears over diabetes. My recent string of tearfests started when I read Hallie’s blog about the scariest night of her life. She and her husband had to call 911 after their daughter, SweatPea, had a seizure because of insulin shock. Reading her account of what happened brought an overflow of tears. I quietly wept as I thought of my own friends who’d recently been through the same thing. My hands wiped tears away as I remembered my own parents and what it must have been like for them when a similar thing happened to me as a child. I searched for a box of tissues as I thought how absolutely unfair it is for any parent to have to go through this.

Then I read a couple of Kerri’s posts about Friends for Life. I understood exactly what she was talking about even though I’ve never met my online DOC friends, nor have I attended a FFL conference, nor can I relate to her feelings of motherhood (in the post I linked to). But I do understand the power of having others who “get” it. I also understand crying for what seems like no reason (I mean, I am writing a post about it after all). Then there was Jess’ post about her amazing and supportive husband — more tears. Then there are the You Can Do This videos that make me cry. (I’ve filmed three so far without posting a single one — I’m not an attractive crier).

Earlier in the week, I read another blog that did it again. It was the very last line of Penny’s blog about her daughter’s first away-from-home swim party. I was fine reading the entire post, but that last line got me;

“Thanks for letting me go tonight Mom. It was great freedom.”

A two-hour swim party as freedom? That’s incredibly sad and devastating to me, but it’s reality for a type 1 child. It was my reality as a child, and now it’s Grace’s reality. It’s not fair, and it’s why I will advocate, raise awareness, raise money and educate others about type 1 diabetes until the day I die.

So yeah, I cry a lot, and I’m OK with it. I like that I cry because it means I feel things. Sure, it also means I wear my heart on my sleeve and can get hurt easier, but I’m fine with that, too. My stressful and exhausted cries that sometimes come at the end of the day are therapeutic for me. It may mean I bottle too much inside, but I’m also comfortable with that.

And while I cry over diabetes regularly, it doesn’t always mean I’m sad. I hate this disease and its restrictions on my life. I hate it even more that it affects so many children and will impact their lives until a cure is found. But sometimes, I cry for hope and for happiness. I cry when I hear about a good A1c for someone after a long, hard-fought battle. I cry when I hear about a child reaching out to others to say, “You Can Do This.” And I cry when my friend, Squeakers, beats me in our bike-riding dual even with D! (Although those are mostly tears of embarrassment). 🙂 My heart is big and it holds a lot of love. For that, I’ll never apologize. So if you see a tear, it’s OK. It will pass quickly. It just means my heart is overflowing for a moment.