Monday, June 11, 2012
My dearest Georganna, many call you G, I call you George. It was our thing.
I didn't want to write this right now, or ever for that matter, but I have to. People have to know.
You are no longer with us and that breaks my heart. Type 1 diabetes is a terrible disease. I know, we share that. The day they put me in the hospital, two years after your own diagnosis, you were one of the first ones to visit me in ICU.
Welcome to the club, you said. I thought, great club to be a part of...
Over the next few months you helped to answer my questions, helped to make me not feel so alone. Shared the diet coke at all our sorority functions. Laughed with me, cried with me. We were in a club. A club that people didn't understand and they still don't. We would tell them, we can have cookies, we can have sugar, don't you know sugar is in everything?? We got it, they didn't. Still don't. We could eat just like them, we just have to take our insulin, just like their pancreas is giving them theirs. We didn't get type 1 diabetes from being overweight, or eating too much sugar, or whatever other reason you heard on the Wilford Brimley commercial about type 2 diabetes! The things that were different were the complications, most of which we had no control over. Living with an autoimmune disease is hard on your body. That is just reality.
T1D is scary. It is unpredictable. It is unfair. It took you away from us, way before your time. I hate it.
I have known many people who have lost their lives to this disease, but you, you were different. You were my close friend. Someone I had known for over 10 years. You were my reality, not a stupid statistic.
I am so scared, George. I wish I could tell you that in person. I wish we could have a "club" meeting. I wish we could reassure each other that we are different. We are not the statistic.
But, we are.
And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.
When you got pregnant with J, you told me, see now you can do it...and I am. He will never get to meet you and see your smiling face and that makes me more sad.
I don't want to do this. I want to kick and scream. Scream words that aren't appropriate. I want to cry. More than I already have. I want to stop talking about it because I am sure I am driving Joey nuts (which I know you love). I just can't. People have to know. This disease sucks. So. Damn. Much. It is so hard.
Instead, I am going to remember the good things...
Singing and dancing to a stupid 80s song at Springfest as freshmen. The first time I met you at a party in some place I don't even remember. Standing at the vending machine in the dorms while you told me I should rush AST. Listing you in my top three picks during Big/Lil. White Rose (enough said). Breaking down together when we lost Stephanie. Living our lives.
I miss you so much, George. Life is too short and you got robbed. I am going to keep working on our "cure."
Love and sisterhood,