A Letter to Hugh –

Dear Son,

I am writing this letter to you because, years from now, I want you to remember a very special day. I want you to remember the day you had a lemonade stand to raise money for JDRF.

It was a drizzly summer day – the kind of days that happen often in June in Louisiana. The grass was wet and soft from a morning shower, the air was hot and sticky. Our hair clung to our foreheads and the back of our necks before we even started. The birds were splashing in the rain puddles in the driveway. The air smelled slightly of jasmine and wet grass. And I was secretly afraid that no one would show up because the weather was just not conducive to a lemonade stand kind of day.

But then we had our first customers – neighbors and friends from down the street who couldn’t stay for a cup of lemonade, but wanted to make a donation anyway. Our second customer was a friend from church, who came to buy lemonade but also brought us fresh squash and cucumbers (be very glad you live in the South, where people love to share the bounties of their summer gardens). Our third customer was a three year old, who sat in a chair on our front porch and devoured a tea cookie as big as both his hands. Our fourth customers were friends and neighbors who raised a son with Type 1 Diabetes 40 years ago, and they are all strong and gracious and wonderful people who encourage us constantly.

I lost count after that. But I can tell you that we had more people come to your lemonade stand than I could have possibly dreamed of. We had neighbors who walked and rode their bikes. We had Mommy’s and Daddy’s friends from high school. We had new friends. We had strangers who happened to hear about the lemonade stand and want to donate. We had your school friends and your school nurses. We had co-workers. We had aunts and uncles and cousins. We had Daddy’s family who drove 2 HOURS just to come buy some lemonade! We had teachers. We even had a few dogs. And right when we thought our lemonade stand was winding down, we had a whole mass of people from our church show up after a funeral – Buying lemonade in their suits and high heels, standing in wet grass and 100% humidity.

Some people lingered on our front porch – sipping lemonade and visiting. Some people stopped by quickly and only stayed a few minutes. There were children there who had brought their own money to buy a cup of lemonade. There were adults there who pulled out their wallets and were so generous it made my eyes water. People rocked in our rocking chairs and kids ran in the rain. That day, our front porch became one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen.

And the money didn’t stop there. People pressed it into my palm the next day at church. We received money in the mail the next week. People from other churches donated. Some donated online. One lady who barely makes it month to month while trying to raise her grandchildren gave us $5 – the widow’s mite if I have ever seen one. Our goal of raising $100 was blown out of the water and we raised over $1,500!

That afternoon, as we were putting away the tables and chairs, you and your Daddy counted the money. When we realized it was over $1,000, we all started laughing and jumping up and down and hugging. And then you stopped, looked up at me mid-hug, and almost whispered “Is that enough for a cure?”

I didn’t know what to say to you in that moment. So I just squeezed you tight and told you that it would certainly help. I told you that organizations like JDRF are working so hard to find a cure and any money we can give them is wonderful.

But what I should have told you is this:

Today is the cure.

Because there will be times in your life when diabetes gets really hard. Type 1 Diabetes is not easy, it’s not fair, there are no time-outs, and it is an exhausting burden to carry. But when that burden gets too big, remember the lemonade stand day.

Remember your sister, who stayed by your side the entire day. She was just as excited as you. She baked cookies and made signs. She collected money and never stopped for a break. She is your cure.

Remember both sets of your grandparents, who sat out in the heat and humidity the entire time. They helped make the lemonade, ran last minute errands for us, and stayed late to help us clean up. They are your cure.

Remember the church members, who came to buy lemonade and cookies while wearing funeral clothes. They know that sometimes life is mourning those who have left us while loving and supporting those who are still with us. Church is your cure.

Years from now, when you are on your own and away from me, and diabetes becomes too hard, and you just wish you didn’t have to poke your finger one more time or calculate every food that you have to eat, and all you want is a cure – know that you have already found one.

And when others come to you, and tell you their burdens are too big, and their problems are too hard, I hope you tell them the story of the lemonade stand day. I hope you tell them how our family was healed that day. I hope you tell them that people are good and kind and generous.

And if they ask you for a cure, I hope you tell them the cure is this – we are never alone.

                                                                     Love, Mom

*To find out more about JDRF and what your money goes to support, click here.

Last week our little family loaded up the car early in the morning and headed down to Baton Rouge for Hugh’s endocrinology appointment. Because Hugh has Type 1 Diabetes, he will have to see an endocrinologist every 3 months for the rest of his life. Not just until he reaches adulthood. Not just until he reaches his 40s. For the rest of his life.

That’s a lot to handle, in my opinion, so we always try to make the trip a family event. Scott and I take off work and we bring Amelia, even though I’m sure Hugh would rather his little sister not tag along most of the time. A lot of times my mom will join us as well, since we rely on her so much to help us with Hugh. Occasionally my dad will make the trip, too.

When the doctor enters the patient room, she knows to expect a crowd. She gives Hugh a hug, then turns around and gives the same hug to Amelia. It’s probably a little strange to have so many in one room, but our doctor never complains about it. I think she gets it.

On the way down to Baton Rouge on this trip, Hugh starts asking if Amelia will always have to come with us (she was being rather annoying and making all sorts of noises to irritate her brother). I told him not always – I’m sure we won’t always be able to arrange schedules and lives to be together for his appointments.

He said he hoped his wife would be able to come with us one day.

“With us? You don’t want it to be just you and your wife at your appointment?”

He replied, no – that he wanted it to be with his parents, and his wife could come along if she felt like it.

That’s right. Move over, wifey. Take your place right behind his mama. I’m sure there’s room for you in the trunk.

So why do we make such an effort to ALL go to Baton Rouge for his doctor’s appointments?

The answer is simple – I hope he looks back on these days with us and realizes he was never alone.

Type 1 Diabetes is a lonely disease. None of Hugh’s friends have to check their blood sugar. None of his friends have to wear a pump. None of his friends have to count carbs, drink juice in the middle of the night, worry about ketones, have nightmares of low blood sugars and no one helping him, skip a cupcake because of high blood sugar, or carry emergency glucagon everywhere.

It can be isolating and depressing to be the only one.

So we go. We go to show him we are in this together. He doesn’t have to face this alone. We will fight the fight right along with him. We will be the pillar when he crumbles, we will be the shoulder for the tears. We will prick our own fingers, we will carry the juice boxes. We will not leave him alone.

And friends, is there anything more in life than to know that you are not alone? There is a God who loves us, and family and friends who are by our side. What more do we need?

If I have learned anything from Hugh having Type 1 Diabetes it is that we need to show up for each other. And we need to keep showing up for as long as it takes. We don’t have to judge. We don’t have to criticize. We don’t have to put people in their place or condemn or condone. We usually don’t even have to say anything.

Sometimes, just sitting next to your big brother and reading a book in the doctor’s office is enough.