Independence

"Mom," Joseph calls out suddenly from the back seat, as we finally begin the long drive home from camp.

"I want to be more responsible for my diabetes care."

"What do you mean, Bud?"

"You know, like do my own set changes."

I catch a glimpse of his earnest expression in the rearview, and am struck with an odd mixture of pride and sadness.

"Really? Are you sure you want to do those yourself-- the insertion, too?"

"Yeah, I do-- not alone, though... I mean... I want you to guide me through it and just... you know... be there."

"Sounds good to me," I tell him, the words catching in my throat.

Soon after his quiet declaration, he's sound asleep....

And then - two nights later - it's time for a set change.

Sitting at the kitchen counter, I pull out his supplies: a new cartridge, infusion set, an alcohol pad, IV prep, IV 3000 tape-- and a small vial of insulin.

Just as I'm about to tear cellophane, Joseph walks into the kitchen.

"No, wait-- Mom, I really want to do this myself.

"Oh-- sorry, Bud."

He drops down into the seat next to mine, and I hand him the cartridge, still in it's wrapper.

And then I take a deep breath and watch-- literally having to sit on my hands in order not to jump in and help him.

"That's it, just smack the cartridge with a pen to get the air bubbles out and- you're doing great, but slow down... take your time."

"I know what I'm doing, Mom," he says calmly, while turning the filled cartridge between his finger tips, looking for bubbles. "I've seen you do this like a million times, and I even did it at camp. It's okay."

And he's right.

Within five minutes, he's done.

"Terrific job, Bud," I say smiling.

"Thanks," he responds with a grin. Then he stands and is about to leave the kitchen when he suddenly turns toward me, holding up his left hand.

I slap it with my right, and for a moment, the tops of his fingers hold onto mine.

And then he's gone.

That was over two weeks ago, and since that day Joseph hasn't looked back -- hasn't asked me to do a single set change-- even when he's been tired or has had a friend over.

He just does it.

Amazing.

I'm so dang proud of him.

But at the same time, sadder each time I sit and watch him do this.

Crazy, isn't it?

After all, this is what I want for him-- I want him to be able to do this stuff on his own.

But still.

The endless set changes, the monitoring, the trying to interpret the numbers-- trying to discover what his body is doing -- the supplies-- God, all those supplies -- keeping track, paying for them -- and always, always being prepared...

At some point, he's not going to need or want me to do any of it for him-- he'll carry this burden alone.

And to be honest, I'm having a hard time dealing with that fact.