Brave?

There is a very lively discussion happening over at Diabetes Mine. It's in the comments section of the post What Makes You Think I'm Brave? It got me thinking. I say it to Brenna all the time. "You're so brave!" Maybe she'll become sick of hearing me say it and tell me to stop some day. Maybe, just maybe, I can rub together two brain cells and find something more, something different to say to describe my outsider's view of her experience. I watch her, knowing she doesn't understand, and it seems to me like bravery. Maybe I should define bravery.

Bravery, to me, is choosing to get the job done or to do what is right even though you are afraid. Amy at Diabetes Mine describes herself as "Chicken-shit" but she does what must be done. Is it really that far off? I might have a tiny inkling of how she feels. I do what needs to be done for Brenna and I don't feel brave -- I feel numb or angry or scared but I do it anyway. I give my sweet girl the opportunity to poke my finger (and flinch when she does it). I wish I could be the kind of brave that puts on armor, jumps on a horse, and whacks to pieces the evil D-beast for my daughter and knows that at the end of the day everything will be fine. It WILL be fine! I work at making it fine and at the end of the day I'm still afraid it won't be. Afraid of complications. Afraid I'll sleep through the alarm again and she'll go too low in the middle of the night. Does all this make me brave? Yes. Do I have to like it? NO!

This is why I'm up so late reading so many d-blogs and drinking in the experiences of those who have dealt with this far longer than I. Parents whose heartache I share and PWD's who are living through what Brenna is experiencing give me a perspective far broader than daily life in my own little world.

Oh, all of that, and it's time test Brenna again.

I guess it's time to be brave.