By Marilyn

We have a tradition in my family:  I take my mother out for Mother’s Day dinner.  Every year she asks me where I want to go and I have to tell her “no, this is your day; where do you want to go?”  Whatever restaurant we decide on, there’s bound to be a Mother’s Day special including a soup, a salad, an entrée . . . and dessert. 

My mom eats everything—including things she’s not “supposed” to since being diagnosed with Diabetes.  At Thanksgiving last year, we had a lot of food.  She ate everything there.  My family will say “oh but it’s only one day, what’s the harm?”  Meanwhile, I try to stay on her and remind her to eat healthy. 

So I guess you could say I’m the “food police,” always watching what my mother eats.  She has a weakness for Turkey Hill ice cream and eats a lot more of it than I think she should.  My family calls me “the mean one” because I’m always on her about things like that, but I have good reasons.  I want her to be able to stay off pills and not have to take shots.  More than that, my uncle lost his leg because of Diabetes and I don’t want my mother to go through what he went through.  Still, she is a grown woman, and I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to. 

On the whole, though, she’s pretty good with managing her Diabetes (she’s a former nurse so she knows).  She takes good care of her feet and sees her foot doctor regularly.  Every week she takes a bus to Stop and Shop to buy produce and other fresh food.  For exercise she goes out and walks around the senior housing facility she lives in, though it sometimes gets a bit difficult in the winter with all the snow (I called her the other day but she didn’t answer, so I hope that means she was out walking). 

It’s been about 20 years since her diagnosis, and she has plenty of people looking out for her.  My sister and brother help out, and every week my sister-in-law visits and brings prepared meals (home made soups and other things) for Mom to keep in the freezer and heat up later.  I also bring over a lot of prepared food once a month for her.  And, of course, there’s me, the “food police.”  I’m tough on her at times but that’s only because she’s my mom and I want to make sure she’s okay.