on mothering diabetes.

in my fridge,

in

the

shelf

that

is

designed

to

hold

cheese,

there

are

vials

of

hope,

and

a kit

with

pre-filled

hormone,

that

will

bring you back

if

you

should

ever

slip

too

far

away from me.

i,

keep

nocturnal vigils

with

foxes

and other

mothers

who have to

keep

on

keeping

on,

before the day breaks.

i,

punch

a calculator in my head

with

every

meal, and

i sing songs of

no, you cannot eat that now

and

please, you must drink this

now,

or, else…

and,

in this home

we

know

needles

and

we belong to the ones with

sharps containers

on

their

kitchen counters

where others

have

no

such

things.

and,

we

are

intimately

familiar

with

the fear that words can carry,

hypo

hyper

ketones

coma

death.

but,

i

also

know

the

hope

in glass vials,

where

every

drop

holds

life.

i,

know

that

cells might

forget

how

to

keep

you alive,

but

i

will

not

forget,

or

give

up,

and,

for

you and for life,

i am grateful.

— on mothering diabetes.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Today, 14th November 2018, is World Diabetes Day.

In our home, we sing a different song and we fight a daily war that involves needles and insulin and fear — if I am honest.

But, we know hope and we are grateful for the simple miracle of insulin.

And, life.

self (worth).

does the sparrow

count

her worth,

in seeds found,

at the end of the day?

a tallying of

numbers

lining up

with avian goals

to achieve,

until

the figures

nod

approval to

her

existence,

or does she simply

rest,

content,

with full belly

in her warm nest,

a life

lived.

— (self)worth.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

I have been working on my internal dialogue — the driven personality that seeks to find (my) worth in what I do.

A counting of what I can tick off my to-do list at the end of the day and only once that list is long enough, full enough, allowing myself the pat on the back, the well done.

On how to live.

Do not think it

a small thing

to be

alive

today.

Go

and

squander

it,

foolishly

if you must,

on the sun

and

the trees

and

the rain

if you

might be that

fortunate

to have

freedom

in your body

and

your mind.

But do not

curl inward

to die

long

before

the music

stops.

Live

sumptuously,

feasting

on the sound of the wind

susurrating

through the trees.

Soak

up the

rich

death of

Autumn leaves

until

you glow

with a life

lived bravely

and

it is time to

sigh

your

farewell.

But not

until.

Not until.

—On how to live.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Magnificat.

I have

known

the desperate

song

of Hannah

within my bones.

A

supplication

for a womb,

to

be

filled.

To be

remembered,

if only

once,

by the

One

Who calls the

barren

to life.

And

every day,

within your

eyes,

I see

that I

was

always

seen.

And

you,

were always

there.

Waiting

for

just

the

right

moment

to

become

a tree

of life.

This longing,

fulfilled.

And

forever

you

are

His.

Held.

Safe in the Hands

that

formed

your frame

deep within

secret

places.

And

she

who

was

hungry

for

life

to

grow

within;

hungers

no more.

—Magnificat.

{Today is my son’s birthday. We waited ten years for him to arrive. And his every smile reminds me that I am seen, by the One who calls the barren to life.}