As I bought a coffee this week, standing around the coffee island in my local 7-11, a young man (early twenties) walked in with a baseball cap turned to one side. He was pouring his coffee when another man in a delivery uniform entered. Without exaggeration, the conversation resembled this:
After a hand shake and a chest hug/bang/whatever it’s called.
“Bro, where were you last week bro, we missed you bro.’
“Check it out bro, it really sucked, I couldn’t make it bro. My little brother (Side note—-loved that they called each other ‘bro’ but his family member was little BROTHER), bro this sucked, we had to take him to the hospital.”
“Shitless, really dude, what happened bro?”
“He got diabetes. Sucks bro. My little brother has diabetes.”
“But he’s so thin dude.”
“No check it out bro, I did all this reading. It has nothing to do with eating anything. He has type one bro. Really sucks. Really sucks.”
“Yeah bro, I already spoke to my mom, I’m going with him and my mom to his Doc tomorrow. I gotta be there for him bro. Family. Simple as that. It sucks all around but I’m all in.”
Take that all in for a minute.
I met “Call me Blu, bro” (I kid you not) outside the store and gave him my card informing him of my connection to diabetes, about CWD, and if he needed anything at all to give me a call.
I sat in my car and watched ‘Blu’ pull away. What an incredibly rewarding experience for me. I loved it. Blu’s desire to help and his drive and thirst for knowledge was absolute. More than absolute, it was matter-of-FACT. It was definitive. Through his ‘masked’ pain it was clear that Blu’s little brother was going to have the help he needed.
And that was cool, bro.
I am a diabetes dad.
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