Luke had a rough evening. After playing outside for a bit, he came in and spent some time in his room. He does that often. I figured he was just playing or reading or drawing.

The next thing I know, he comes out into the living room, his eyes on the verge of overflowing with salty tears. He tells me that diabetes sucks. (Yes, yes it does.) He tells me he’s tired of people commenting on what he is eating- not in a mean way, just making sure he doesn’t need a different option for a snack or meal- and he knows it’s going to happen his entire life. (It’s probably true.)

I try to tell him they’re just trying to be nice. Accommodating. They want to make sure he feels comfortable. (Ironically by making him feel uncomfortable.) He gets that, he really does. He just wishes it didn’t have to happen. He doesn’t want to be singled out. To be fussed over. To be watched.

He’s tired of being diabetic. He doesn’t want this stupid disease anymore. He wants to be “normal” again.

All I could do was hold him. Hug him. Cry with him. Tell him I wish I could take it away… because I would. In a heartbeat I would take this huge weight- all of the finger pokes, the giant cgm needles, the insulin pump needles, the worry of how is every single piece of food or activity going to affect his blood sugar, the comments- every single bit of it- off his young, 12-year-old shoulders and gladly put it on my own.

But I can’t take it from him. I can only listen and pretend that I get it. I can only try to know how he feels.

And I can hug him and hold him and cry with him some more.