Yesterday a friend had posted that it was the anniversary of one of the worst days of their life. It was the anniversary of their son's diagnosis with diabetes. Yesterday I also watched as candles were lit all over the diabetes online community. More children were dying because of this disease.
My mind thought back to the day of my own son's diagnosis. Was it the worst day of my life? Was it one of the worst days of my life? My answer was no. That surprised me. How could something so devastating, a time period that was so terrifying not be ranked as one of the worst days of your life?
Simple...my son is alive. The day my son was diagnosed is firmly etched in my mind. I can relive almost the entire day in exquisite detail. I never forget March 17, 2000 and each March I silently countdown until that fateful day but it still is a day that I remain grateful for.
That day, so many years ago, my son was a lifeless bundle. His body was cold. His breathing was laboured. With each intake of breath, I prayed he would live to take one more. All I wanted was my son to live. He was only two. He had so much more living to do. I wanted him to grow to have his own children. I wanted him to bury me not the other way around.
My prayers were answered. My son was alive. He is now a charming teenager. He is tall, smart and handsome. He also has diabetes. That brings its challenges but we are both here to meet them.
March 17, 2000 was not the worst day in my life. Had I had to live through the pain that the families of Emily Mak and others are facing, in having to bury their children then it definitely would have been the worst day of my life. That day remains etched in my mind. Our world changed forever. Nothing has ever been the same. My son is still with us though and together we work to keep him healthy and safe. In the grand scheme of things, its a day to celebrate because its the day Diabetes did NOT win and my baby is here as proof. I pray we all have a lot more of those days.