Growing up. Getting your driver’s license, maintaining a job, or moving out. These two words convey something different to everyone, but everyone knows what they mean. Personally, growing up means responsibility, choices, and learning maturity. The summer of 2013 made growing up an inevitable feat, even through the hustle and bustle.

I have been diagnosed with Type 1 Juvenile Diabetes since I was fourteen months old. Consequently, I’ve learned responsibility, resilience, and tenacity in my short sixteen years; however, some days I don’t feel the fight. It would be easier to give up, but I know that’s not an option. Although it’s a burden, it’s the way I have learned to live. My diabetes is my responsibility. If I slack and let myself go, I’m the one to obtain the consequences; however, this summer I was asked to look after a three year old diabetic: Zayden.

At first I felt completely confident. When Zayden’s dad contacted me he stated in full confidence, “I wouldn’t trust my son’s life with just anyone. You’ve lived it. No one could handle it like you.” After his dad had dropped him off, the anxiety sunk in. I know my own body, but will I be able to be fully aware of his body too? How would I ever live with myself if something happened to him on my account? I knew in that moment that I needed to grow up and act responsibly. Not only for myself, but for Zayden as well. I gained the realization that there are so many things beyond myself that are going to be flooding my world in the near future. Responsibilities far beyond myself. This realization intimidated me beyond belief.

Beyond having to make choices for another innocent individual, life began handing me opportunities to make my own choices. One morning I was faced with the choice to visit my grandparents or a dear friend who had been in the hospital the previous night. To me, the choice was obvious. My grandparents would be there when I got home, so of course I would take a few hours out of my day to visit an ailing friend. As I left to visit my friend, my mom glanced at me in disgust and critically remarked, “I guess your choices are beginning to change: friends over family.”

Immediately I was burned with intense hurt. She knows family is the most important thing to me. Where did that comment even come from? After analyzing my mother’s criticism, however, I realized the truth behind her words.

I was beginning to make my own choices, but simultaneously, my priorities were starting to shift.

Just a few short days later, I was forced to make another choice: to visit my boyfriend’s family in Kalamazoo or stay home with my own. At the time it didn’t seem like a big decision; however, while reflecting on this choice, I realized I chose to advance my relationship and also, to blow off my family yet again. To comfort myself, I remember thinking you see them all the time; they won’t even miss you. Unfortunately, the events of that day proved that statement horribly wrong.

Regret of not choosing to be with my family started creeping in while sitting on the couch watching a movie. I never imagined my life would change the way it did that night, but it did. It was shortly after 8:00 p.m. when I received the text: “Valerie VanAvery died in a car accident…” I immediately burst into a fit of hysteria. A heavy blanket of guilt and remorse was placed upon my shoulders. Between my sobs, I kept choking out the words, “Why? Why? I just want to go home. I just want my mom.” I wasn’t able to comprehend all of my emotions of regret, sadness, and misunderstanding.

After an extended period of grieving, Valerie’s death uncovered a great moral in my life. I’ve learned to accept that catastrophical events will occur. This is an unavoidable fact. Through a system of healing and discovering, I realized that the terrible events in life are not what life is about; life is about what you gain from each of these event. It is how you learn and grow.

I learned a new perspective in life that day. Cherish every single moment with your loved ones. Only God knows when He’s ready for you to gain your angel wings.

Though the pain is still numbing, the night of August 10 taught me a lot. Things will end. Childhood. Dependence. Life. But there will always be better things waiting on the other side.

Death is not about black; it is about learning to be pretty in pink.