From the shore, I watch a life I used to know - the seas swirling rough and rapid.
I sit, wrapped in the embrace of a sun I thought I'd never see.
I am unencumbered by worry. I reach my fingers to the sky, letting the light kiss their smooth tips.
I think about the storm and how it came, sudden and swift.
I think about the years of maddening calculations and missteps. The whirlpools and the hurricanes. The lashing wind and rain. The dark days and endless nights.
I think about the fleet of ships that journeyed at my side.
I think about those that were lost.
I think about the days I was so tired, I thought maybe I could not go on. And about how, without fail, a fellow traveler laid a hand on my shoulder and said "This storm will pass."
I wonder about the path we took. And about what lies ahead.
I trace my hands along the physical scars I received those years. Knowing their lines and bumps and grooves, so familiar.
I look back at the old, shredded map with its cross outs and crossbones and exes marking places we should not have ventured. And I am thankful that it led me here.
Ever-grateful to be standing on this shore.
Cured.
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I dream of the day when we'll all stand together on that shore, out of this storm.
And when we arrive, I will be happy to have journeyed with every one of you.
"Happy?" World Diabetes Day.
Oh, Nicole, you made me cry.
Happy? WDD to you too.
I hope we both get to see that cure one day.
I love it.
That was an awesome apologue to what things could be....
Oh my gosh - that is the hope that I have for all of you that travel this difficult path. As a parent I can only stand on the shore and shout to my daugher as she tries her hardest to navigate, hoping she hears me, glad she isn't alone!
(honestly I'm sitting at my desk crying, not really sure if the tears are for the journey so far or for what lies ahead...)
This was stunning, Nicole. A beautiful piece of writing.
"I reach my fingers to the sky, letting the light kiss their smooth tips."
That's where I lost it, when I read those last two words.
Because at 3:00 this morning, I was pricking Joseph's battered finger tip for the third time in 45 minutes-- pausing to examine the callouses, the black marks...
I lost it, then too.
Truly inspired and beautiful. One day we will all stand on that shore, reminiscing about the stormy seas that have long passed us by... That's my hope, anyway.
Penny - I made myself cry too... The thing that gets me through a lot of days is that - as dim as it is in my mind - hope is still there. And as jaded as I am - diabetes hasn't been able to take that away from me.
Thank you, Scott.
Thank you, Sandra. The piece actually came to me as I sat looking at my left index finger, which is officially shot. I cannot test there anymore the callous is so bad. It made my throat ache and my eyes sting. Thank you for helping me through the storms so many times.
Thank you, Ryanator. We must keep hoping.
Catherine - my parents and my family weather the storms with me - just as you weather it with your daughter. She may be steering the ship, but you're right there with her. You should know that. And when we get there - you'll be in the sun with us.
Thank you all, for being here with me. On to the shore.
Nicole, I see why you write for Dlife. We all felt something, and were quite moved by your writing. Thank you!!!
Thanks so much, Steph. And you are most welcome. I'm so pleased to be able to share this space with all of you. :)