They bleed.

As a young girl, I was hardwired to believe that the sight of blood was a bad thing. Bright red meant danger.

Blood meant Band-Aids, Neosporin and warm washcloths to cleanse the wound.

Blood meant that someone was injured. It meant pain. It meant tears.

It meant that the protective armor of a scab would come to protect the wound while it heals.

Blood was never a good thing.

And now here I am, a mother of three boys with Type 1 Diabetes. My fearful perspective of blood has been diluted. So much so, blood doesn't evoke the feelings of danger that it once did.

Blood is now a symbol of the boys testing their blood sugar, and as such...it doesn't faze me.

I washed blood off the front door today. Seriously, who does that?

How did it get there?

Was it from a quick test before running out the door to school?

Was it from a quick test before riding a bicycle?

Was it from a quick test before running out to scouts?

I don't know. All I know is that the blood is a good thing. It means they are testing. And testing means safety.

When I wash the blood off counter tops, cabinet doors, light switches, and knobs...my memories often flicker back to the time when blood would startle me.

And after I remember, I then wonder what another person would think if they saw it.

Would they be horrified? Would they think it was disgusting?

I assume that they would.

Unless it was the blood of their own child, deep down I am assured they would feel differently if that were the case.

Part of me feels like I am supposed to be disgusted. But the numbness doesn't allow me to feel that way anymore.

Blood is now sacred. Every drop I see fall...every drop I clean up...I have the deepest respect for.

Blood doesn't mean death or fear or harm as it once did.

Blood means life.

And my boys live.

The blood on my door tells me so. My soul stirs with happiness because it is so.


(A blog post all about diabetes?  How is that for Normaling?!  Booyeah!)