Special One


There you are sleepy almond eyes of greenish-blue

Fluttering chocolate lashes so long finally peeking up at me

Yes, I’m your Mama with a captured heart that’s already whisked away

Cozy now, swaddled in a warming blanket of softest touch

Underneath I’ve counted them, 1 to 10 on each fragile foot and chubby fist

Doctor, don’t you see the ‘perfect’ cradled babe within my weary arms?

Brushing such an angel face of pinkest warm next to mine

Glimpsing damp silkiness sneaking under striped cap of knit

Watching my precious newborn’s chest rising up and down

So shallow to my ear I’m bending near

To catch the spittle of the next hush-a-bye breath

Do you hear my own heart beating, brimming overwhelming love?

Like a waterfall rushing over mountain rocks…..surging solid strength

Rolling new of word on silent tongue…Mother, Madre, Mama… that’s me!

Oh, the sound so lyrical to my head ears are dancing new lullabies

On my chest this feeling of bliss is unsurpassed

Grab my finger hold it tight please God let me savior this specialness

From now until the end of time this moment will remain deep within

For I have a ‘special need’ within my heart and soul

To have you for my child, to be your mother today, tomorrow and the next

Yes, on this first day of your new life on earth

Together with the whole of my own lifetime too

I will always be blessed to be your mother, thanking God for you.

 

 

Forgiveness


There is another “Chronic Condition” living in this world.  Evil.  From the beginning of life it has slithered silently, tempting us with warm whispers in our ears while baiting puzzled minds.

Recently, I attended church where the pastor’s sermon could have been written for “Me, Myself and I.”  He seemed to look me straight in the eye, while reciting six simple words, “the guts not to fight back.”  The minister was referencing the movie “42, The True Story of an American Legend.”

The above movie is about Jackie Robinson, the first man to break the color barrier in major league baseball.  Mr. Robinson played for the Brooklyn Dodgers, beginning with his rookie season in 1947.  No, I do not in any way compare myself to the late, great Jackie Robinson. Yes, I needed to hear those words that day.  “The guts not to fight back.”   

From the preacher’s polished pulpit, a soft-spoken pastoral message spilled slowly throughout each wooden pew.  I was struggling with forgiveness….how to “rise above” someone who had deliberately hurt me without cause or provocation.

The pastor’s sermon helped me realize how important it is to be better than those who wish to harm our hearts and souls.  All of us, no matter how hard it is to forgive others.  If successful, the good in us will shine through for the whole world to see.

Jackie Robinson lived a life of class and honor where he eventually became an American hero.  Although he faced a nation of evil in his time, he rose above to live a life of forgiveness.  This is what people remember today.  This is the light that shines through for Jackie Robinson.

Thank you, Pastor.

‘Little Boy Blue’


‘Little Boy Blue’  lived near my family…close to the roof that covered my boy’s heads for most of his young life.  He grew from small into tall together with the two of my own.  I remember a pack of skinny lads dressed in baggy white pants of polyester.  Baseball teams were named after crawling reptiles in green or striped jungle animals outlined on the front of uniform shirts.  Mothers hoped elastic waists were tight enough to keep them from falling down to ankles or knees.  Each spring and summer and well into fall they’d sit on the bench sloshing down bottles of colored Gatorade between seven innings or more.  After one or the other slid into home-base, hands often slapped ‘high-fives.’  Miniature clouds of cocoa-colored dust burst above caps of red.  Poof!

Over the years, Little Boy Blue developed into a strong, caring and protective young man.  Knowing his buddy lived with diabetes, he watched over him throughout the years.  When my son was twenty-two, this man of young protectiveness, called me.  I rushed over.  With a face as white as chalk and eyes limp and closed, my son was clearly in danger.  Able to respond only to my voice, a bird’s sized mouth opened, allowing me to spoon sugar under his tongue.  Thank God for his friend in blue!

On another occasion, my son’s then fiancé telephoned his very best friend, the same one who wore blue.  Worried, she said, “I can’t get an answer by phone.  Please, will you go check on him?”  With no questions asked, this young man in blue raced to my son’s side, where luckily everything was fine.  Still, as always, my son’s tall friend of sweet soul was there for him.

A few years ago this young man of huge heart fell in love, marrying a delightful girl he met in college.  Her quiet demeanor together with kindness was the perfect match to his love of life and God.  Together, our family attended their glorious wedding, helping to celebrate their future of anticipated joy.

Yesterday, at my grandson’s Christening, the Godfather in ‘Blue’ was missing.  Having just been relieved from an all-night shift at work, he was home in bed.  I’m sure he preferred to be at the church service to fulfil his duty.   Instead, physical and emotional exhaustion had taken its toll on him.  His young wife, the beautiful girl chosen to be Godmother, smiled lovingly when speaking of her dear husband.  “It’s been very difficult the last fifteen days,” she said, measuring her words carefully.  “He needs to rest.”

It is not lost on me that some people do not look to see the other side of a policeman’s life.  First and foremost, this cop truly did choose his profession to “Serve and Protect.”

For this ‘Little Boy in Blue,’ I know it to be true.

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Christening Present from Grandma


Earlier today, my first and only grandson was Christened in a beautiful church where, afterward, my son and daughter-in-law held a lovely family reception.  Not long ago, I was asked to print the post below for the their son’s nursery.  Today under an old-looking frame painted in brushed green, were words from my heart ready to be hung on a sleepy baby’s hush-a-bye wall.

Wishes For Grandson

A breath, a cry, a baby yawn, you’ve made your presence known.  Newly bathed and swaddled in gauze, your mother cradles you to her breast where two hearts beat as one.

For my first grandson, I have wishes for you.  More than three, less than a million.  If I was near a fountain of gurgling water splashing into a pool of clear, I’d toss loose coins while wishing silently.  Instead, I will write them here for you to read one day.  A day not so far away when you grow from wee into a little lad.

Before you even arrived, I prayed to God above for all your life ahead.  And, as I slept the first night after, I dreamed of all I wished for you.  As you grow from infant to tadpole to toddler to teen, close your sweet eyes to imagine that wishes and dreams do come true.  I give them all and more to you.

While you are a baby I wish for you to nestle with Mommy, reach for your sister’s face of innocence and Rock-a-Bye with Daddy.  Choose your favorite blanket, roll on your belly, scoot on the floor, learn to crawl, and 1-2-3 please smile for me.

I wish for you to play with wooden blocks, build a tower, knock it down, eat green peas, spit them out, take first steps and pull my hair.  Catch a big red ball, say a word, and play in snow with Daddy who loves you so.

Before we can say magic words, babyhood is gone for good.  A little boy you now will be.  We will miss the small.  Soooo, B-I-G!  How lucky is your family?

I wish for you to hold a puppy’s leash while jumping in puddles of mud when the rain smells good.   Splash, splash, splash.  Now, close your eyes to soak warm sunshine like an ocean sponge.  Do you feel it on your sleepy face?  Toasty, like Mommy’s kitchen after baking cinnamon rolls.  Can you smell them if you sniff, sniff, sniff?

Oh yes, I wish for you to sleep in a tent  or catch a frog while listening to crickets chirping loud in the quiet of the night.  Soon it rains a melody of drops on dark green canvas for you to hear.  Plop…plop…plop.

I hope you’ll see a Mama bird build her nest  and feel a roly-poly bug crawling in your hand right up your wrist.  Not to worry.  It won’t hurt, only tickle.  Lots of itty-bitty legs…can you guess how many?  Grandpa says, “14!”   Soon I laugh at chocolate rings round your mouth from milk found in a cup at Grandma’s house!

I wish for you to win a race, build a back yard fort and watch firefly’s glow yellow in the black of night.  Skip a rope, jump a hoop, swing a bat, and hit a ball.  There it goes…..Look, squint your eyes to see.  Flying like a rocket ship…see?  A home run to be!  Listen closely now, do you hear the cheering crowd?

Please, pick up squiggly worms for me.  Ride a bike, get dusty dirty, fly a kite, and skip a rock.  Swim in lakes, underneath are minnows skimming crystal sand in waters of Windex blue.

I wish for you to bottle up bullies with a cork.  If words should sting, please tell Mommy or Daddy.  You will see bad words do not help…only hurt.  Rise above them. Remember this, be the best that you can be.

When old enough to fall in love, kiss the girl you will marry one day.  Please love her with all of your heart.  Look to Mommy and Daddy to see how good it can be.  Respect the ‘She’ you love someday.  Any part of your heart you give away will come right back to you….only bigger and better!  Do you feel it growing inside of you?  Be patient and you will see.

The greatest wish I have is that you live a long, long life of prayer, good health and happiness.  If this last big wish comes true for you, chances are that all these dreams and wishes will too!

Above all else, Grandson, be your father’s pride, your mother’s love and your sister’s shining knight.

 

 

 

Very Inspiring Blogger Award


I suppose Bobby-C at http://bobby-c-blog.com/ & http://bobby-c-health.com/ has given up on me by now.  “Wow,” he’s probably saying.  “That was a waste.  Why did I bother to nominate her blog?  It’s been sooo long.”  Please, Bobby-C, don’t give up on me!

Procrastination is a terrible fault of mine.  Life takes over, pushing everything back ‘one more day’ until each becomes further from the next.  Suddenly days turn into weeks flipping a card-stock calendar page up above to the nail pounded in my yellow mudroom wall.  Poke it through the perfect hole…there it is, a glossy picture of a brand new shining month!  Whoops…if I don’t get going another page will turn on me.

With undeniable gratitude I thank Bobby-C, for nominating my blog for the, Very Inspiring Blogger Award, together with his patience at my formal acceptance.  Bobby blogs at http://bobby-c-blog.com/ & http://bobby-c-health.com/ where you will find his most inspirational journey through personal goals and aspirations.  He’s a dedicated family man, full of life spirit who loves the outdoors and all that it entails.  The father of four grown children, they are most important to him together with his lovely wife.  Thank you, Bobby, for this beautiful award.

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The Rules of Accepting This Award Are As Follows:

  1. Thank the person nominating you and post a link back to them.
  2. List the rules and display your lovely award.
  3. Share seven facts about yourself.
  4. Nominate 15 bloggers who inspire you & let them know they’ve been nominated within their own comment sections.
  5. Proudly display your new award logo on your blog page and ‘follow’ your nominating blogger.

Seven Interesting Facts about Myself:

1.  My worst subject in school was math.

2.  A favorite hobby of mine is going to the movies.

3.  Although I’m not a big eater, I can gobble down an entire Banana Split in a matter of minutes. Don’t dare ask me to share!

4.  I’m looking forward to an October vacation with my husband and friends.

5.  My favorite way to shop is on-line with free delivery!

6.  I’ve been told by my doctor recently to gain weight!  Who would have ever thought such a thing???

7.  I started the year as a grandmother of one.  I’ll end the year as a grandmother of five.  My eldest son presented me the gift of a precious baby boy in April, my youngest son married a beautiful young mother of one.  He’s adopting her little, Briella.  Together, they are expecting twins…girls!

The 15 Inspiring Blogs Nominated Are:

1.  http://faithsimone.com/

2. http://thelifeofaflurozebra.wordpress.com/

3. http://darealztalk.com/

4. http://ramblingsfromjewels.wordpress.com/

5. http://pathsofthespirit.wordpress.com/

6. http://west517.wordpress.com/

7. http://firstnightdesign.wordpress.com/

8. http://zar4h.wordpress.com/

9. http://childrensbooksheal.com/

10.  https://osarobohenry.wordpress.com/

11. http://elenacaravela.wordpress.com/

12. https://elizabethmeltonparsons.wordpress.com/

13. http://evgenygridneff.wordpress.com/

14. http://nestpirations.com/

15. http://bisforblessed.com/

In spite of my best attempt at fact-finding, I realize that some of you may already have this award or that others may not accept awards for personal or religious reasons. Regardless, please know that your blogs inspire me.  I appreciate your work, the messages you write through your words or the art and photographs you present.  Thank you for what you give to me as well as others here at our WordPress family.  Should you choose to accept this award please visit my site @ https://kimgosselinblog.com/.  Thank you  so very much.

The Simple Life


After ten long hours scrunched in the car, we finally made it to the farm.  Gravel under tires made the familiar crunching sound.  We pulled in atop loose stones, pebbles of grey and white designating a drive-way amid acres long called, home.  Did I miss the turn of the key or the sound of the melody?  Four doors suddenly sprung open like a long closed box.  Out popped arms and legs in different sizes and shapes.  Stretching and bending this way or that, reminding me of my little brother’s green Gumby toy when we were young.  Perhaps his horse, Pokey is eating hay in the barn?

The farm belongs to my father-in-law, but it is my husband’s legacy.  It’s important that my children and grandchildren know where their father and grandfather came from.  Where his life began.  They may not remember this trip today, so my pictures will be a remembrance forevermore.  I want them to see where he lived and grew-up as a boy, to listen to stories of the simple things he took pleasure in.  To grasp the meaning of how different life was not so long ago before technology stole time away.  How good things were when fun could be bicycles and books, playing in fresh air or running and jumping until legs-were-so-tired.

The old farm-house sits among 80 acres of lush dark soil, green grasses, woods, streams, fields, and trails in a little town called Shelby, on the northwest side of Michigan, not far from the Great Lake of the same name. It is beautiful country, so peaceful one could hear their own name whispered in the wind.  Nine children were raised within the walls of the cozy home that is made up of three bedrooms with one bath for all.  Impossible now perhaps, but back then it was not out of the norm.

Living on a farm came with chores to do, depending on birth order.  Older siblings saw more animals raised in the barn than younger ones.  A cow of black and white, chickens, pigs, and cats to catch the mice.  My husband remembers milking cows when he was very young in a silver tin before gathering eggs for his mother in a wicker basket of biscuit brown.

A lot of the family’s food came from crops grown in their own dark soil.  So rich, it was and still is nearly black, the color of coal.  There were vegetables from gardens and planted crops plus mouth-watering fruits falling from trees drooping above.  Cherries and asparagus helped to provide for the family, while my husband’s father worked hard at a factory job too, nearly each and every day.

My husband tells me of a wonderful childhood where his playmates were mostly sisters and brothers. Sports were a family favorite and for a while they had their own small basketball court poured near the red wooden barn.  Kids formed small teams to play baseball, football or croquet on the massive lawn.  They rode buzzing mini-bikes up and down the dirt path or fished in glass streams using scraps of cream-colored rope for line.  On the end of their hooks were stolen pieces of pink bologna, curled and shriveled, ready to lure miniature fish from under speckled rocks.

When darkness fell, a freshly scrubbed brood gathered round the square black and white television set, straddled on four wooden legs.  If the space-age antenna worked just right, two or three fuzzy channels came in.  Sometimes arguments broke out until a patient mother stepped in to decide what show would be watched.  Before long,  bedtime fell upon freckled faces with long lashes.   Soon weary feet of bare climbed steep steps to  the top.  Under eves, bunk beds were shared while sweet dreams danced beneath blankets of curly heads until morning when a new day began.

Today, it may be hard to imagine the simple life above.  Gone forever it is, I’m afraid.  In our suburbia  it’s rare for children to have real space to play, and it’s not safe to let them go off for the day like my husband once did.  For good or bad, technology has replaced much of our children’s freedom, leaving them little room for down time. Still, at every opportunity please allow children to be kids.  Let them run and jump, play and grow.  Encourage them to use their imaginations.  Dreams are sometimes born through simple things.  A walk in the park, flying a kite, catching a fish or reading, “Run-Spot-Run.”

 

Tragedy


My mind has been in a vortex of mixed emotions this past week.  Upon returning from a family vacation in Michigan, it seems a river of sadness was about to wash over the hair on my head. When the wheels of my car crossed the bridge of the muddy Mississippi, my St. Louis town together with its people were about to change.

Yes, another young black man was killed by a white man in our country.  This time it happened in Middle America, about thirty minutes north of my home.  It’s been nearly a week yet the city that I love is still in turmoil.  Protesters are in the streets day and night.  Anger is palpable, not only seen but felt.  Tear gas blinds. News anchors run.  Fear is here.

Reports on CNN differ from hour to hour, day to day.  Who is correct, what is the real story?  Bottom line, a tragedy has occurred.  Life has been snuffed out.  A boy has been lost forever.  “Justice,” rings aloud from the crowd…over and over again.

As a white woman, I will not pretend to know what it feels like to live in a black body.  I do not.  Still, I am human, I am a mother, and I live in a house located in a neighborhood where families are raised. I feel empathy.

My husband’s best friend of 25 years is a black man who lives in Jacksonville, Florida.  Our families have vacationed together and visited each other’s homes on several different occasions.  A few days ago, he called to say he does not understand why the protesting continues.  The dead boy’s neighborhood is being destroyed.  “Hasn’t enough harm been done,” he asked?

Not long ago, this same neighborhood is where I soaked the spirit of children’s imaginations while helping to encourage emotions on paper.  Families were enthused at the prospect of their children’s lives lighting up.  The community was on an upswing.  My article, Writing Stars was inspired on that day, http://wp.me/p41md8-11W.  I remember my husband stopping at the local ‘Quick Trip’ for a large plastic glass of iced tea.  Today, it is the site of “Ground Zero.”

The police here and politicians all over the country are still investigating.  I pray for peace, for no one else to get hurt.  Who knows what the real story is, or when justice will happen, whatever that may be?  I only know a piece of my city looks like a war zone.  War kills.  Haven’t we had enough of d.e.a.t.h.?

“Mankind must put an end to war, or war will put an end to mankind.”  John Fitzgerald Kennedy

 

 

Ajayatao’s Children


My world is turned upside down having learned only moments ago that our dear blogging friend, Ajayatao, has passed on into God’s, heaven.  I cry tears for myself and others at losing this gentle soul upon our living earth.  Yes, I am selfish.  I miss his soft spirit already this morning.  Yet, I believe children above are smiling today.

Ajayatao had tremendous gifts.  How I loved his talented eye at getting the perfect shot with his camera upon passing an exotic flower, a sunrise over ocean waves, or a crinkle within the corner of an old woman’s weathered face.  He found artistry in God’s waiting wonder, sometimes writing beautiful words to accompany his alluring photographs.  No one shared more than my lovely friend, Ajayatao.

But, by far what I shall remember about Ajayatao, is his love for children.  This, I shared with him.  Often, we commented back and forth regarding the photographs of our ‘little ones.’  He had a special place in his wide, open heart for young children…like God, I think.  This is how I ‘picture’ him now.  In heaven surrounded by chubby faces, moppets of curls, tenderness, faces in need and pure innocence.  He loved them all.  I know because he told me so.

I will miss you, Ajayatao.  Your loving ways, your words, your photographs, your comments and most of all, the tender spirit that surrounded you.  Thank your for your time with me.  With all of us here.  You have been a gift to share forevermore.

Fly free on angel wings, Ajayato.  Close your eyes to capture children’s loving hearts for all eternity.

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Priorities


Yesterday, I admit it.  No words in my head.  Lots of images for future posts to come, while ten fingers rested ever-so-lightly atop an old keyboard friend.  Not once did they press a printed letter up or down.  Never, did I see a word appear on my old familiar screen.  Instead, it remained blank the whole day through.  Like a ghost of white, it called out to me through French glass doors of an empty library room when darkness fell.

The last month of travel, together with visiting my dear Great-Aunt, seemed to sap the energy from one bone to the next.  Whispers of my old St. Louis town wafted through open windows as our car traveled back from Michigan.

When I woke-up the next morning, I heard the message loud and clear.  “Take a rest,” my body said.  Still, there were appointments already made.  Red X’s penned on the calendar that told me so.  “Get up,” they said.  Oh, how I hated to get out of bed!

Suitcases were unpacked the night before.  Clothes in lumpy piles plumped among the sunlit, wooden floor to be sorted sometime later.  Garbage cans were dragged across the driveway to the curb before whisking ‘Doodle Dog’ off to the groomer.  Whew…..a fresh smelling bath with a trim for him!

With seconds to spare, I made it to a doctor’s appointment.  Yes, barely on time.  Annual blood tests taken with an X-ray, too.  Next, I stopped to pick up my husband’s dress shirts from the cleaners, all perfectly pressed.  He’ll be flying in late from work tomorrow.  One thing less for him to do.  A few minutes later, my cell phone rang.  It was the dentist calling to remind me, “one more time.”  Off with my head!  Truth be told, I think I’d rather…J

A few calls on my Bluetooth to check-in with my son and some friends before stopping at the store for milk and bread.  Maybe a banana, some salad and a chicken breast or two.  I’m almost afraid to check my e-mail box.  It’s been several days.  There wasn’t any service in the thick woods of Michigan.  I may tackle that chore next, I guess.

My ‘words’ will come to me, tomorrow and hopefully the next.  They’re in my head, perhaps hiding under a wished for mattress or squeaky springs with a fluffy feather pillow.   When time is taken off, the clock at home seems to stop.   Yes, my work has piled up.  It’s waiting for me.  Yet, all is worth it in the end.  Life is fleeting, gone too fast.

Hmmm…When I think of God’s gift of feelings that I’ve just been given, the waiting work hardly seems to matterMy sweet baby grandson held against a beating chest, napping in my arm, or resting upon my lap.  My precious grand-daughter giggling with delight, her ringlets of curls swinging like a picture postcard against a backdrop lake of blue.

When on my death-bed, will I wish that I had worked a little harder for one more day or rested just a little longer?  Never for a second against that backdrop lake of blue…..

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For Emma and Others


Since I heard the news last week, I told myself I wasn’t going to write about it.  Over and over again, the brain in my head whispered thoughts to me. “No, no, no,” it said!  Yet, here I am sitting at my desk where those same thoughts are speaking silently aloud to me.

Invisible memories traveling from my mind down the length of my arm.  Long fingers resting with air-filled tips atop printed letters.   A familiar keyboard speckled in dust.  Tap, tap, tap.  Jumbled words appear on a screen of white.  What will I write?

About a week ago, another child ‘close to home’ was admitted to St. Louis Children’s Hospital with the forever diagnosis of insulin dependent diabetes (T1D), an epidemic in Chronic Conditions.  I write, “close to home,” because this sweet, young girl is the daughter of my son’s co-worker at the National Weather Service.

A small office, everyone works hard to ensure the safety of the general public by tracking weather patterns and providing them forecasts ahead of danger.  Although men and women work in shifts, they are tight, like a family.  Nimbus, my son’s diabetic alert dog is always by his side.  Each time a co-worker opens the door, a moist black nose of the darkest night sniffs the air, making sure the scent walking in belongs with the ‘others.’

Upon hearing of the child’s T1D, diagnosis, I sighed before unconsciously biting my lip.  Eyes brimmed with glassy tears.  One or two spilled out.  Later, I washed dried salt from my cheek.

It doesn’t matter how many years have passed since I first heard the word, diabetes.  Whenever I think of that moment, the feeling is still here within me.  Deep down in the pit of my stomach.  A spring that never unsprang reminding me of a “Slinky” that was never removed from its original box.

I know how this mother felt when she received her daughter’s diagnosis.  The word probably came out of the doctor’s mouth sounding like it was in slow motion or under water.  Muffled, garbled and not understood.  In a split second, her family’s life was changed forever….

Overwhelmed, exhaustion finally set in.  Suddenly, this mother was the newest member of a club she NEVER planned to join.  Yet, there in a pastel, painted cement block room was an IV pole saving her daughter’s life with the magical powers of insulin.  Drip, drip, drip.  Thank God.  Yes, Thank GOD….

There is nothing good I can say about diabetes.  Absolutely nothing.  For those who follow my blog you know I try to stay positive.  I believe there is a reason for everything.  We may not understand it at the time, but eventually we discover it.

The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, will provide Emma with a book that I wrote over twenty years ago entitled, Rufus Comes Home.  She will receive it free together with a cuddly stuffed teddy bear like every newly diagnosed child in their “Bag of Hope.”

Here is the irony.  Emma will read a book written by the mother of one of her father’s co-worker’s.  It was written shortly after her father’s ‘co-worker’ was diagnosed with diabetes when he was a young child….just like little Emma.  Hopefully, the story will help her and her family cope while giving them some sense of peace during this most difficult time.

I am not promoting the book.  Fourteen years ago I sold my tiny publishing company together with rights to all of my titles.  I no longer receive royalties.  Regardless, it truly warms my heart to know that this particular story is still helping children many years after being written.

If there is a ‘reason’ for my son, Jayson developing diabetes, certainly it was to inspire others through the books I wrote.  They never would have helped another without him blazing the first trail.  I thank you in my heart forever, my son.

What will Emma’s “reason” be?  Perhaps one day she will entertain us as a beautiful ballerina or sing upon a stage?  Maybe she’ll become President or wear a Miss America crown upon her lovely head?  She’ll help another family or go on a Mission far across the great blue sea…  She might become a doctor or a scientist working with a microscope?  In spite of living with diabetes, Emma can capture wishes while living all of her dreams.

I’m still hoping there will no longer be a need for any of the books I wrote on Chronic Conditions.  Someday in the distant future…. How wonderful that would be!

No more Emma’s.  No more, Jayson’s.   My own wish you see…my every day dream…my evening pillow prayer.

 

A Few Statistics on T1D (insulin dependent)

As many as 3 million Americans may have T1D

15,000 Children and 15,000 Adults are diagnosed each year

80 people in the US are diagnosed EVERY day

Each year, T1D costs our health care system nearly 15 BILLION dollars.

There is NO way to prevent the onset of T1D.  It’s thought to be triggered by a combination of environmental and heredity factors.

Insulin is not a cure, it’s Life Support

 

Symptoms of T1D

Frequent thirst and urination

Drowsiness or lethargy

Increase in appetite

Sudden loss of weight

Vision changes

Sugar found in a urine sample

Fruity odor on breath

Heavy or labored breathing

Unconsciousness, seizure, or stupor.  Call 911 Immediately!!