The other night, as I was getting you ready for bed, I was preparing to wash your hands (anticipating the middle-of-the-night checks). You seemed to be in a good mood, as you usually are. I lifted you up to the sink and turned on the faucet. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, then out of the blue, you said, "Diabetes." It's a word we've practiced with you only a few times, but I was shocked to hear it come out of your mouth, especially with your limited 2-year-old vocabulary and ability to form words.
Immediately my heart sank. It ached with sadness once again.
It begged the question: Is that what you see when you look in the mirror? Is it the disease? Or the boy?
My challenge is (and will continue to be) raising you in a way that you will see so much more than diabetes when you look at your reflection. I hope you will see a confident, active boy. A boy like every other boy, able to do anything you put your body and determined mind to. I hope you will see the boy who loves cars, Buzz Lightyear and every other Super Hero, a boy who loves to swing, blow bubbles, swim, run and mimick everything his older brothers do. I hope you will see beauty in God's creation of your body, ever-grateful to Him that you have a healthy body thanks to the advances of modern medicine, again provided by Him who knows and loves you dearly. I hope you will see that you are my son, a brother, a grandson, a cousin, fitting into this family perfectly, like every other child. Above all, I hope you will see Ty, a boy who is loved like crazy, by everyone around you.
Because you are.
So, Ty, please don't see diabetes when you see yourself. You are so, so much more than that.
Please see you.