Attitude

Emerald’s favorite sentence is “I hate my life.” It is her go-to when we ask her to do something she doesn’t want to do, when she gets in trouble or when something happens that she perceives as “unfair” like bedtime or not having a cellphone, anything she asserts “everybody else at her school” doesn’t have to deal with. Most often, it is followed up with a declaration of how much she hates diabetes as it is the epicenter of all negativity in her life.

She says it so often over the last five years that it has almost lost all meaning.

I would like to think myself above an emotional response to such an outburst, but I have found that I most certainly am not. It could elicit any number of things, depending on my mood and what else is going on at the moment.

It might make me angry--angry that Emerald is not more appreciative, more grateful for the life we have provided for her. Angry that she would say something so inflammatory. Angry because she might possibly mean it.

It might make me sad because she has a right to hate her life. She didn’t make a decision to have this disease.

Michael said something that led me down the rabbit hole recently: What are the chances that we would have these kids with these conditions, with this frequency? It sparked my curiosity so I began to chase it down, looking at the statistics. 9.4% of the American population has diabetes; only 5 to 10% of those diagnosed have Type 1. About 0.24% of that population are under 20.  Less than 10% of those with the genetic marker for diabetes will actually develop it in their lifetime--risk factors include certain viral infections, living in colder and northern countries, immediate family history, being given cow’s milk too early, being of caucasian descent, and having other autoimmune diseases. It is more likely to affect white males than white females, and more likely to affect African or Asian females than white females. Just 6% of families that have one child diagnosed will have a second one develop diabetes.

Michael was right. Statistically speaking, Emerald was a long-shot to develop this and yet here we are--our number kept coming up. So a lot of the time, it makes me so very sad that she has to deal with this and that we have to deal with this, that there is no cure and this will be her life for as long as there is an Emerald.

I feel ashamed, too, that I can’t do better for her. For all I know, I am completely flubbing this whole deal up. Maybe she has a point. Maybe her life is just terrible and it’s my fault because I couldn’t provide more, be better, do better. I might expect too much of her, may be too strict. I didn’t expect to be the hard-ass parent; I hoped I’d be patient and understanding and kind like my mother and instead I’m a cranky goblin.

And let’s be honest, occasionally I feel slightly amused. What a drama queen.

It makes me wonder: is that how God feels when I complain about this life He has given to me?

When I grouch about diabetes, is He annoyed that I don’t appreciate how He has provided medicine and care so that we can keep the girls healthy and safe? Does He get frustrated that I don’t thank Him for watching over them and protecting them from the worst this disease has to offer?If I fuss about autism, is He sad that I’m focusing on the difficulties and not on what a sweet, intelligent, wonderful little boy Gabriel is?

Is God ashamed of my attitude toward all the blessings He has given me?

Emerald has inherited my sass and penchant for hyperbole; saying she hates her life is a habit that will prove hard to break. I cannot change her attitude—she is entitled to feel unhappy at her situation, because being unhappy is how we improve. Our emotions are a call to action to remind us to change what we can and to somehow find peace with what we cannot. I would like to teach her that a bad moment does not make a bad day, a bad day doesn’t make a bad life. It is a good reminder for me, too.

Maybe Emerald is just entering a new stage in her life, and I’m reading too much into it, taking it too personally. If that’s the case, there’s a storm a’comin.

Huh. Why don’t I feel any better?