Most of the teams who participate in our local JDRF Walk for a Cure are composed of friends and family walking for a child with diabetes. The child gets to be the focus of attention for a fun-filled day of raising awareness for that which normally separates him (or her) from his friends. There's also the smattering of company, corporate, and fraternal teams walking in the name of public service.

And then there's the third type of team: those who walk to honor the memory of a loved one killed by diabetes.

Memorial teams may be the fewest in number, but they serve as a poignant reminder of why we must walk - why we must continue to walk - and why insulin is not a cure.

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A man is not dead until he is forgotten. -- African proverb

Saturday night, the vice-president of our Friends of Faire group delivered a well-worded "toast to the immortal memory", in which he named Robert Burns "the Bard of Scotland"  in the way that Shakespeare is "the Bard of England" (not to mention most of the rest of the English-speaking world!). As our festivities were dedicated to a member who had recently and unexpectedly died, her life was also celebrated in this toast, and her passing, mourned.

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N and M

I am on the floor of my brother's living room. My three year old nephew in my lap. He is reading to me about elephants and tigers, complete with animal sound effects. His body presses against my insulin pump, which in turn presses against my hip. I had almost forgotten that diabetes sits with me, even in these gorgeous, irreplacable moments. An unwelcome resident of my body, my mind, and my heart.

A little later, my nephew comes out of his bedroom and stands in the middle of the kitchen. He has a block tucked into the waistband of his pants. He pulls it out and starts pushing imaginary buttons.

I ask "What are you doing, Milton?"

"Giving my medicine, like Aunty Coley," he responds. (READ MORE)