Life With Jenny: Type 1 Diabetes, Childhood & Loss

⚠ This blog post talks about my dad passing away. ⚠

This is going to be difficult to write, but I am currently working on healing from traumas and because this blog is part of my healing process, this is something I need to write about. This blog post may come as a shock to some, and be surprising to others. Not many really know my story of how I grew up, my relationship with my dad or my dad passing away. They know their stories and have stopped talking to me for reasons I have no idea why, but I want to use this as a way to share what I went through growing up and when my dad died. Death is not easy, losing someone is not easy, and it's important to process the grief.

When I was 8 years old me, my mom, and my baby brother moved out of our house and into an apartment in a nearby town. I remember a couple weeks prior, I had told my mom first thing in the morning when I had gotten up, that I was afraid of daddy. I had witnessed a fight they had the night prior and was truly scared. The next thing I knew, we were moving. If I remember correctly, my mom hadn't told my dad or me, she just planned to move because she wanted her kids to feel safe in their home, and currently, her oldest child did not feel safe.

I remember mom and dad argued a lot, but I also remember they had good times too. I was young and didn't quite understand what was going on but I understood we were moving. I was almost 9 and my brother was almost 1. My dad came over to our apartment one evening to see us - however, he really didn't spend time with me, he wanted to see my brother. He sat there and cried talking to my mom and holding my brother, begging my mom not to take his son away from him. He told my mom that he wanted my brother to live with him. I was sitting right there. I heard all of that. He didn't once say he wanted me, he hardly payed attention to me. My feelings were hurt, but being so young, I didn't fully understand either. My dad and I would go fishing together and he taught me to play hockey, and baseball, we'd get ice cream together - he always got a chocolate vanilla swirl and I always got vanilla with rainbow sprinkles - to this day, vanilla with rainbow sprinkles is still my favorite ice cream.

As time went on, the divorce between my parents was finalized. My mom got full physical custody of me, and my dad got full physical custody of my brother, and they shared legal custody of us both. It still baffles me that a judge would agree to splitting up siblings like that, but perhaps it was because of the age difference between us. In the beginning, my brother would stay at the apartment with us, and I'd stay at the house with my dad and my brother. After a couple years, my mom had met someone new, Bob, and they started to build a life together. We moved from the apartment into a very large house just a few streets over. I still spent time with my dad and my brother on weekends. When I was 11, my mom and Bob decided they wanted to move to Florida. My mom didn't do well in the cold weather due to some medical conditions and the idea of moving to a warm climate sounded very appealing to her. She also just wanted a fresh start where people didn't know her and she didn't have to answer questions about the divorce or hear the rumors about why the marriage didn't work.

Initially, when my mom told my dad their plans to move, my dad fought for me. We had to go to court, he didn't want me to be so far away. Ultimately, because I wasn't very close with my dad, I wanted to be with my mom and told the judge that, so I was allowed to move to Florida with my mom and Bob. I was 11 when we moved. Massachusetts and the very small town we were from, was all I had ever known. Moving to Orlando, Florida was a huge change and a huge culture shock. It was hot, so hot, and just big - so many people, buildings, it was just huge. The visitation agreement was that I'd fly from Florida up north to visit my dad and brother, and my dad would fly my brother down to visit us. This was during school breaks and summertime.

For the first 6 months of the move, visitation went well. I remember mom, Bob and I had gotten into an argument - I don't remember about what, but it ended with me saying I didn't want to live with them anymore. To my surprise, my mom immediately called my dad and told him what I wanted. She let me go and I lived with my dad and my brother for about 6 months I think, maybe a tad longer, I can't remember. Things went pretty well living with my dad and my brother. I remember a time where I didn't feel very well and checked my blood sugar; it was 350 I think and I immediately panicked. I told my dad my sugar was high and I started to cry and said I need to call my mom. He looked at me and told me to take a breath and calm down. He said we know what to do when your sugar is high, right? I said yes, I take a shot. He said okay, then do that and if it doesn't come down then we will call mom. My sugar came down and I was just fine. After some time, I decided I wanted to go back to Florida so I called my mom and she arranged the move.

I will never forget the look on my dads face the last morning I saw him before my grandma picked me up. He looked heartbroken and it was just about enough to make me want to stay - but my mom was expecting me back and had arranged plane tickets and all that. I couldn't disappoint her too! Trying to make these decisions as a 12 year old was so hard. I didn't know what I was doing. I just didn't want anyone to be upset yet no matter what I did, I hurt somebody. I felt like nobody considered what I was going through. Nobody thought about how hard the divorce was on me, how hard it was to move, how hard it was to make new friends, how I didn't get to just be a kid, I had to make these hard decisions that hurt somebody in the end and that was my fault somehow. I was at fault for my parents not being able to work through their marital problems, I was at fault that my parents split us siblings up, I was at fault for it all, somehow. How fair is that? To put all that blame on a child? As an FYI - NONE of that was my fault. I still struggle to understand that none of this, none of the things that transpired during my childhood are/were my fault.

Managing type 1 diabetes while simultaneously dealing with these family issues was difficult at times. I had to take care of me though. Just because things were going on in the family didn't mean I got a break from my diabetes. It was still there. You don't get breaks from it. It doesn't go away. I still had to check my sugar and still had to do shots. I remember the first time I needed more insulin and syringes - being 11 years old and asking the pharmacist for a bottle of regular and a bottle of NPH insulin and a box of syringes was weird. I was so young and was asking for these drugs that I needed to continue living, but it felt odd, it felt wrong, like I was doing something wrong. The pharmacist got everything for me though and I paid for the items and went about my day.

After I moved back to Florida, I continued to fly up north to visit my dad and brother and my brother came down a time or two as well. But once I was about 14, communication just kind of stopped. Mom, Bob and I had moved into a new place, it was bigger and nicer. We lived there until I was 16 and then something happened that I had never dreamed would happen; we were evicted from that house. The police showed up at our at 8am and told my mom that we had to get out of the house. He put a sign on the door that said 'EVICTION NOTICE'. I think we had 24 hours to get our belongings and leave. We had a lot of stuff. My mom just told me to pack up what I needed from my room that I could take with me and to put it all in my car. So I did, and I left the house and just drove around until they called and told me where to go.

Eventually we went to a hotel. We were there for a few days and then we moved into a house. This house wasn't as nice but it was still a roof. What we didn't know was the roach problem. It was horrible. They were everywhere. I'd sit up at night with one of the bug spray bottles that had the little spray gun on it and spray the insecticide on the bugs on my walls. After some time, it got better and we got rid of the bugs. Things were okay. For a while. Then it happened again. We had to leave.

I don't think my dad knew about these things, the evictions, the instability. I remember I wrote a letter to my dad once saying that I didn't hear from him and wondered why. I think at the time, my car needed work and I asked if he might be able to help me. I never heard from him. I would have been happy to hear no, he couldn't help. I wasn't reaching out for just help with my car, I wanted a relationship with my dad, but failed to get that.

Eventually, living in a hotel got to be too much for me so I asked my boyfriends family if I could live with them just so I had some stability so I could graduate high school. I wanted to graduate high school and with the way things were, I knew it was going to be hard. My boyfriends family graciously agreed to let me live with them; my mom was disappointed but understood why I wanted to. So I moved in with them and graduated high school with a 3.5 GPA.

After graduation, mom and Bob had moved into a new place and things seemed to be going well. Understandably, I had some trust issues so I didn't move back in with them right away. I visited more and gave it some time to make sure things were going to be stable. I did move back in with my parents after a couple months and things were good for a while. The only strange thing that was happening was that Bob was constantly hiding his truck in the garage and I was instructed not to answer the door should someone show up asking about the truck - even the police.

About a month after moving back in with Mom and Bob, my dad called on my 18th birthday. He said he wanted to get together over the summer and wanted to know if I wanted to come up to Massachusetts for a couple weeks to go camping and fishing with him and my brother. We had to push it out until near the end of July because he and my brother were going on a fishing trip with friends in Manitoba, Canada. So we set a date for me to come up, I was excited! I was going to get to see my dad and my brother and my hope was to work to repair our relationship and become closer, actually have that father daughter relationship I'd always wanted.

Not long after that phone call with my dad, I was home alone getting ready to go on a lunch date with my boyfriend. He was on his way over to pick me up and then we were going to go to the mall and a movie. He showed up and of course, I wasn't ready yet, so he came in and sat with me while I finished my makeup. We were getting ready to go when there was a knock at the front door. I panicked. Nobody came to our house. I looked out my bedroom window and saw a police car. I looked at my boyfriend frightened, and said I'm not getting the door. It's the cops and they're probably here for Bob's truck. He asked if Bob's truck was here, or if I knew where it was. I said no. He said okay, then if they're here for Bob's truck, you can truthfully say that you don't know where it is. Go answer the door.

I answered the door. It was a female officer and to my surprise, she asked for me. Immediately I was thinking oh my gosh, what did I do?! I told her I was who she was asking for. The next part was such a blur. She told me in one breath that she was there to tell me my dad had passed away while on a trip with my brother. I didn't fully understand what she was saying. My dad was dead? I couldn't breathe. I asked her where my brother was because I knew they were travelling together. She gave me all the information she had from the police in Minnesota. My brother was with the friends they were travelling with and he was safe. I thought it was a car accident or something. I had no idea. She also told me that my dad had no will at the time of his passing, and because I am his oldest child, I was in charge of everything. She asked me if I was okay and I told her I was. She asked if anyone was home with me, I told her my boyfriend was there and we'd call my mom. She made sure I was okay before she left. Once I closed the door, I just fell to the floor crying. My boyfriend didn't know what to do with me. I was just on the floor crying, wailing because I was trying to process what I was told and it hurt so bad. He called my mom from my phone and told her what just transpired. I heard her on the other end of the phone say WHAT? and that she was on her way home.

I just stayed on the floor. In two weeks I was supposed to go see my dad and we were going to go camping and spend time together. That opportunity was ripped away from me now. Suddenly, I stopped crying and I was overcome with worry - my brother was 10. Where was he? I needed to know more. I called the phone number to the Minnesota police department the officer at my door had given me. I spoke to an officer and he told me that my dad had passed but they weren't sure what caused it, perhaps a blood clot from all the driving. My brother was safe, with friends and already had a plane ticket to Nana's in Massachusetts. Okay, I thought, he's safe. He's probably not okay, but he's safe. My mom came home while I was on the phone, still in the middle of the living room floor. I got off the phone and told her what I knew. I called my Nana, I called a funeral home - I was 18! I didn't know what to do! I just started calling everyone and trying to plan for everything. I was in charge and needed to take control, not that I knew how or what to do but I'd figure it out.

My mom and I flew to Massachusetts together a few days later. I hadn't been in Massachusetts in so long, but everything looked the same. We got a lawyer to help with all the legal stuff, I went to dads house, I went to his shop, I went to Nana's, I did all kinds of really hard things that I had no idea what I was doing. But, the things had to be done and I just had to keep going. I went to dad's funeral. I sat alone because well, I guess I was the outcast. All of this was so hard, and I was alone. People said they were sorry for my loss, but nobody really asked me if I was okay - and my automatic answer was that I was fine because I had to be.

A few days later, mom and I flew back to Florida. I had to go back to work and so did she. I had plans to fly to Minnesota to retrieve my dads truck a few weeks later. This time my boyfriend flew with me. We planned to go to Minnesota, then drive the truck to Massachusetts because I needed to handle some more things, and then we'd drive to Florida. Since dad and my brother were on their way to Canada, they had stopped in Minnesota for the night. Dad had a heart attack in the hotel that night.

So my boyfriend and I flew from Orlando to Minnesota. We got a ride from the airport to the hotel where the truck was. We got a room for the night - I barely slept that night because it saddening and uncomfortable for me to be sleeping in the hotel that my dad died in. By the way - none of this felt real. It was so odd. The next morning we got up and had something to eat. I went down to the front desk and asked for the keys to my dads truck. I took the keys and went to the truck - I had no idea what the truck looked like, but once I saw it, I knew it was his. A little Chevy S10 pickup, blue front and brown truck bed with a camper shell on it. It was packed full of everything you'd need to fix a vehicle while traveling. I got in the driver seat, put the key in the ignition, but she wouldn't turn over. No power. So we looked in the back of the truck and sure enough there was a remote battery charger/jumper. I pulled it out and looked at it and was just like uhhh - I have no idea what to do. My boyfriend wasn't too sure either.

Conveniently, up the hill behind the hotel, was a Napa Auto Parts store. So I thought, well there should be someone there who can tell me how to work this thing. We walked up the hill and I told them what I was trying to do, they gave me instructions and then we went back to the truck. We did what they said and gave it a few minutes and she started right up. We got our map and packed up our things, checked out of the hotel and headed out on the road. I will never forget what that hotel looked like, I will never forget how I felt. Now, I see that God got me through this. He was guiding me every step of the way.

The drive from Minnesota to Massachusetts was long. About halfway through our journey, the truck started to overheat. We didn't know why and we didn't have enough money to get it fixed because we needed money for gas and food. Turns out we had a busted radiator which is why we had to keep refilling it. But that little truck got us to Massachusetts. A friend of my dads looked at the radiator and gave it a temporary fix so we could drive it to Florida safely.

One of the hardest things I had to do was decide where my brother was going to go. At that time, I was going to move from Florida to Massachusetts. I was going to get a job in town and I was going to live in dads house and I was going to be my brothers guardian. This way he wouldn't have to leave everything he's ever known. I could take care of him and take care of dads house. I knew I could handle the finances because I had already gone through dad's bills and knew I could get a job in town and be just fine. I'd have a house, a truck, family nearby to help if I needed it. I told my boyfriend that's what I wanted to do and he supported me, even said he'd move up with me and help me. Well, the rest of the family didn't like my idea so much. They said it was because I was so young and I'd be putting my life on hold to raise my brother. I understood their concern, but I wanted so badly to do this. We had just lost our dad. I wanted to take care of my brother. I didn't get to do that though, which I see now is fine. My life would have turned out completely differently, but I don't think it would have been bad. So my brother went to live with our uncle and his family. They adopted him and raised him as their own. He's had a good life and though he doesn't talk to me, I'm glad he's doing well.

This is not nearly the entire story of my life or the things I experienced growing up but its a good chunk of it. This was all a lot to handle and having an autoimmune disorder didn't make anything any easier. I've gone through a lot but always felt like I was handling it on my own for one reason or another. My dad was absent from my life and my mom and Bob were very interested in alcohol during my preteen and teen years. I'm not writing this to point fingers or have people feel pity for me. That's not what I want at all. Actually, what I want is to mend relationships and have that side of my family back in my life. I'm hoping that by healing from these traumas I can reconnect with my dads side of the family. I want it to be known that I love my dad and miss him dearly. I also want to share my story and what I went through because what I went through matters. It's why I am the way I am today and has a lot to do with the negative thoughts I fight daily, as well as anxiety and depression. It's been 18 years since my dad left this earth, and I'm still not healed from it. I am in therapy and actively working through it now, but it is a hard and painful process.

Now that I am walking this life with God, I know I will get through this. I know it's taken all these years for a reason. I know that reason is because God wanted me to be able to be sitting here, writing this blog to tell you all how wonderful He is because even though I didn't know Him personally then, He got me through it all. He got me through it all so I can share my story now and help others going similar things. He protected me all those years and kept me healthy. He had me experience hard things to show me that I am strong and I can do it. Now, I know that when things get hard, I can do it and what's even better now, is I get through with His help. God is good. I had a rough childhood, but God is good. I lost my dad at a young age, but God is good. He has a plan for everything. We will most likely not understand that plan, but that's where trusting Him comes in. We must surrender our lives to Him and put all our trust and faith in Him, because as I have shown over and over, He is always with us. He has never left my side - even when I didn't have a relationship with him. He loves me and you unconditionally, which is why Jesus died on the cross for us.

Thank you Lord for your son, Jesus.

This blog post was a heavy one and I thank you for reading my story and being here to support me.

God Bless you.

Until Friday,

xoxo - Jenny