“I will never celebrate my son’s diaversary.” That’s what I said when I found out what a diaversary was. And I meant it. I remember the feeling. Feeling like that day would be better if it just fell off of the calendar entirely. I even wrote an article about how I would never celebrate his diaversary. That’s how strongly I felt about it. And yet, here we are, 10 years into his diagnosis, celebrating his diaversary.
I want to share this story. Because if you hate the idea of celebrating a diaversary… I get it. If you understand why other people celebrate, but you don’t want to… I get it. If the day passes you by and you don’t even think about it… I get it. And if you celebrate diaversaries like they’re an extra birthday or holiday… I get that too.
I’ve been in all of those situations over the last 10 years. And I remember how I felt about diaversaries during each phase.
Not everyone’s attitude towards diaversaries will change. Some people are eager to celebrate right out of the gate. Others will go their whole lives without celebrating a single one. The point of this story is to emphasize that all of those thoughts and feelings are valid. All of them are “normal” responses to a life-changing event.
However you choose to celebrate, or not celebrate, your or your child’s diaversary is what is best for you in that moment. Whatever you do, that’s the right choice.
A tiny little bit about me:
I managed to go through my entire childhood without meeting anyone who had T1D. I never heard anyone talk about it. It wasn’t on my radar at all. I hadn’t even read the Babysitter’s Club book about Stacy’s diabetes. I didn’t know there were different types of diabetes. In short, until my son was diagnosed, T1D didn’t exist in my world.
So, this is my 10 year journey. From not knowing T1D exists to celebrating a “diaversary”.
Diagnosis
When my son was a couple of months shy of his third birthday, he was diagnosed with T1D. As I mentioned, I knew nothing about it. And I didn’t seek help. I had a T1D toddler and an infant to take care of. I listened to the doctor and did what they said to do. It never even occurred to me to find other people who were living this nightmare.
The DOC (diabetic online community) might as well have not existed. I didn’t know about it, I didn’t think to go looking for it, and it took me another 3 years before I accidentally stumbled across it.
Needless to say, the idea of a diaversary had never crossed my mind. And when I finally learned what it was, I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to celebrate the occasion.
It was a bit different for us
Because he was so little when he was diagnosed, he hasn’t really ever known anything different than T1D life.
We were a few years in before I was even introduced to the concept of a diaversary, so we missed several simply due to my own ignorance. I couldn’t very well celebrate something that I didn’t know existed.
However, I did instinctively mark the anniversary. He was too little to remember. And he was too young to understand dates and anniversaries. But I remembered. And thanks to social media “memories”, even if I hadn’t remembered, the internet did it for me.
We called a few people… grandparents, aunts and uncles, and close friends to tell them he was in the hospital and what had happened. After that, this is how I told everyone else that Jordan now had T1D.
“Wishing my baby Jord didn’t need to sleep at the hospital tonight.”
I explained why he was at the hospital in the comments.
On his first diaversary, this is the memory that came up. It wasn’t just remembering his T1D diagnosis that upset me. That post reminded me of the fact that I wasn’t with him throughout his hospital stay.
When he was diagnosed, only one parent was allowed to stay with him in the hospital during the night. Since we had an infant who was nursing, it made sense for me and the baby to go home and for Dad to stay with Jordan. Most of what I remember is a long bus ride home with the baby, getting her to sleep for the night, and then crying about my toddler being in the hospital with a terrifying new diagnosis that I knew nothing about.
His first diaversary
That memory didn’t fill me with a celebratory feeling. I spent a good portion of the evening looking at pictures of him before T1D came into our lives. I felt sorry for him, and for myself.
Thinking about all of the things that were more complicated with T1D.
I had seen in a “mom group” a post where a few moms of toddlers were arguing about which toothpaste was safe to use for their children. Heatedly arguing… about toddler toothpaste. I just stared at it. I had never considered which kind of toothpaste was ok or not. Should that be something I worry about? Would it have worried me if I didn’t already have so much on my plate?
My time was spent making sure we had low treatments, giving insulin, and making a toddler eat more because “we already dosed for that and you’ll go low if you don’t eat!” If he didn’t have T1D, would my biggest worry really be toothpaste? I just couldn’t fathom it.
On his first diaversary, I simply posted, “Happy one year anniversary diabetes! … I still hate you.” I didn’t know there was a special word for a diaversary, but I was definitely aware that it was on that day.
Related: Why I will never celebrate my son’s diaversary
It was like that for the first few years
On his third diaversary, I noted that he had spent more of his life living with T1D than without it.
“3 years since Jordan was diagnosed. He’s officially been diabetic for more of his life than not. Super dislike!!”
I was still looking at old photos and feeling sorry for everyone. Just once a year.
Something I really remember about those early years was how people reacted to my aversion to celebrating.
If I said anything about how we don’t celebrate his diaversaries, it was like other T1D parents took it as a challenge. I’d get bombarded with comments telling me that I should celebrate it. They celebrate it. They all shared their reasons and told me how they celebrated.
Here’s the thing about people who don’t celebrate diaversaries. They’re not asking to be convinced to do it. They’re not attacking the fact that you do celebrate. Their not celebrating doesn’t negate anything about your choice to celebrate. Your choice to celebrate is just as valid as their choice not to.
I understand the urge to make people feel better when they’re sad or angry or hurt. I do. But a T1D diagnosis often comes with stages of grief and everyone works through that differently. There is no “right” way to do it.
On his fifth…
I talked a bit about “Hippo-Bee”, the small plastic horse that he had gotten from the hospital when he was diagnosed. When it was time for him to move from the ER to the pediatric floor, they told him he could take one of the small toys with him. He really wanted 3 of them. A hippo, a bee, and a horse. It took him a few minutes of considering his options. Suddenly, he declared that he’d keep the horse and name it Hippo-Bee.
As you can see, my stance on not celebrating his diaversary hadn’t changed after 5 years. Then, the very next year, something interesting happened.
On his 6th diaversary…
I got a kind message from a lovely friend:
“I just wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you. Happy brave day mama”
I was shocked. Not because someone had actually thought of my son’s diaversary, which is pretty shocking in itself. But because at 4:30 in the afternoon on his 6th diaversary, I realized that I had completely forgotten it was his diaversary!
I just plain forgot. And even when I saw that message and remembered, I felt nothing. I didn’t feel sad. Or sorry for myself or Jordan. My friend was worried that she had inadvertently ruined my day. But, she hadn’t.
Somehow, I had gone from loathing the 9th of May to it being just another day. I couldn’t tell you why it happened, or how it happened, but it happened.
And this is how it went for 3 years. He still didn’t know what a diaversary was. We didn’t really discuss it. The day came and went each year.
It felt a bit like I was in limbo. I was no longer having negative feelings about his diaversary, but I also had no real interest in celebrating. I understood both sides of the coin, but wasn’t on either.
However, every year I thought more and more about the possibility of celebrating. It was around this time that I collected diaversary cake ideas from the DOC and created an article about “diaversary cakes”.
Related: 17 Awesome Designs for your Next Diaversary cake
Then came his 9th diaversary
It was 2021. We were past the worst of the pandemic. Restaurants were open. Things were happening again.
I thought this is the year. We should have a diaversary celebration. But when I looked at the calendar to start planning…
Mother’s Day is a funny holiday.
The date changes every year. This was the first year since Jordan had been diagnosed that his diaversary and Mother’s Day landed on the same day.
That brought up new feelings. Not everyone in the T1D world will have these feelings. There are special days that T1D can steal… if you let it. We don’t do much of anything for Mother’s Day, so I’m not sure exactly why I couldn’t do it. There was something about his first diaversary celebration being on Mother’s Day that just didn’t feel right.
Some people have diaversaries that fall on Christmas, Halloween, birthdays, and other special occasions. Of those people, some will choose to celebrate over the top… a double celebration of sorts. Others will ignore the diaversary completely. And others will celebrate the diaversary and ignore the other special occasion. It’s a personal choice and there is no wrong way to celebrate (or not celebrate) a diaversary.
But we had never celebrated his diaversary before. And Mother’s Day had never landed on his diaversary before. He still didn’t care about diaversaries and I just couldn’t do it.
10 years is a long time
Especially when you’re only 12 years old. 10 out of 12 years living with T1D.
10 years of insulin, carb counting, and low treatments.
10 years of knowing words that other people don’t understand like basal, CGM, and A1C.
It’s a milestone. It’s something to celebrate. So we did.
I told him that his diaversary was coming up and asked him what he wanted to do. He sarcastically said he wanted an ice cream cake. His dad and I both said, “Ok” and he looked absolutely shocked. I guess he thought we were joking. So, we explained.
We treated it like a birthday. He chose what we did during the day, and what we had for dinner.
We played at a park most of the day. He got a nice new haircut. We went out for sushi. We went for an evening walk around a lake. And we had ice cream cake for dessert.
Funnily enough, when we went to pick up the cake… I said we were picking up the poop emoji cake. Turns out ours wasn’t the only one and I had to be more specific.
Anyway, happy diaversary… or not. Whatever works for you!
~ Leah
Do you celebrate your diaversary? Let’s chat about it. Leave a comment below!
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Great post
maybe it’s just sleep deprivation from my sugar being high all night, but this brought tears to my eyes , especially after reading the “why i will never celebrate my son’s diaversary” post. i think the progression is beautiful. i like the day because i am able to celebrate that i have made it as far as i have, especially because there have been so many doubts in my mind that i would even make it this far- but it’s always a bittersweet day. congrats mama, you’re killing it. so proud of you and your son!! 10 years of t1d is no small feat. 🩵
Great post!
From almost the moment my daughter was diagnosed at age 9, I decided we would change the day from being a sad memory to being something to look forward to, a day that quickly became about happy memories. That was as much for me as for her. I didn’t want a day that was full of dark memories and sadness. So every year on her diaversary, we did something fun. We didn’t have a party – it was a day just for her to do whatever she wanted (within reason) – maybe go shopping, go get pedicures, go see a movie, things like that. And after that first year, it became a day we both looked forward to with joy and anticipation, not sadness. Tonight we are having a party to celebrate 20 years! And it was her idea and planned by her. As she became an adult, she has continued the tradition with her husband, and while I remember it annually, it’s not with sadness or dread – it’s simply wondering what she’s planning to do to celebrate. I highly suggest to all moms to do the same for your own sanity because there will come a day when you don’t really think of or remember that time in the hospital. But until then, make it about happiness. It’s sort of a mini personal holiday.