When you were born, you came into this world at lightning speed—an hour and a half after my water broke to be exact—and you haven’t slowed down since.
You’ve kept your father and me on our toes for almost 18 years as well as a few day care providers, teachers, coaches, and baby sitters. In fact, when you were about two, one of your daycare providers wrote on your daily report that you had “trouble controlling your body.” It’s something we still laugh about today, but as a new parent, we didn’t know what that meant or if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
What we did know was that you were constantly in motion. You liked to run, jump, spin, and couldn’t sit still without tapping your foot, shaking your leg, or fidgeting with two toys in your little hands. As you grew older, you had trouble focusing in school, had a tough time making friends, and weren’t quite up to speed with your peers academically. I was worried.
After talking things over with your teachers and your doctor, we decided to have you tested for ADHD. In third grade, the diagnosis was confirmed. We now had a name for what was going on with you, but instead of being relieved—I was worried.
I watched as you struggled and I struggled along with you. Questions were constantly running through my mind. “Will he be able to learn, will he make friends, will he be able to go to college, will he be “normal”?
With the proper medication, therapy, hard work, and lots of love and support, we watched you slowly overcome these hurdles and things started to look a little brighter.
And then you turned 12. After a routine physical and a few tests, we found out you had type 1 diabetes. It was a disease I was familiar with since both my brother and sister had it, but this familiarity was not comforting. I knew that it was a life long disease that took constant monitoring, discipline, and control to manage. How was my little boy who had trouble focusing and a fear of needles going to manage THIS? And once again—I was worried.
Turn the clock forward six years. It’s high school graduation and I watch in awe as you put on your graduation robe and hat. I stare at you and think about all of the things you have overcome. And here you are, graduating in the top 25% of your class, headed off to an awesome university to study biochemistry so you can find a cure for the disease you now manage so brilliantly.
But more than that, I’ve watched you find your place in this world and embrace it. I’ve watched you develop into a warm, caring human being with a big heart. I’ve watched you become a man.
I know you will encounter more challenges in the next chapter of your life, but after seeing how you’ve handled them so far, I can honestly say—I’m not worried.
I love you, Son. Go out into the world and kick some butt.
Like this story? Hit the happy heart button below or share it with your friends. Thanks.
Email me when kathryn mahoney publishes or recommends stories