On a day everyone else knows to go out to trick or treat, enjoy ghostly going ons and scoff down pumpkin soup.
Whereas we do all of the above and remember it has been 5 years since the Type 1 gremlin took root in my daughters blood.
The irony: on the day when kids smear fake blood on their chin, the volume of sugar in my kids blood threatened to consume her.
Our own horror filled Halloween, a nightmare that didn’t stop when Bonfire night began.
18250 blood tests
And 5375 meals which have had their carbohydrate content calculated before they were consumed.
It has been hard, she has been inspirational, we have learnt so much, and tried so hard.
And we preach.
Or I preach.
Because Type 1 is a condition that is still badly misunderstood. It’s confusion with its distant cousin Type 2 causes no end of strife for kids with Type 1.
Together we went to Parliament, asked for more support in schools, because for some obscure reason, once you leave the gentle confines of primary – it would seem secondary want you to fend for yourself.
And I marvel.
At a six year old girl who once steadied my hand as I tried to inject her, who is growing into a teenager who has faced and deals with more than many of her peers.
I watch my daughter refuse to let the lack of a functioning organ prevent her from anything. I see her pushing through bad days and maximizing the good.
I see a girl who knows far too much about the medical complications she may face one day; but who carries on regardless.
At times I see a glimpse of the amazing woman she will become.
5 years. We don’t get a medal, we don’t get a prize. Her brother and sister snuck into the shop and bought her a giant Dairy Milk – to mark the day.
And I do get to wax lyrical with how proud I am of her.
Because I really, really am.
Molly – when I finally let you read this page – know how behind the nagging, I was always amazed at you. I could never be as strong, nor cope as well as you.
You inspire me, daily, to face my fears and do it anyway.
I love you