Before dinner on Thursday night, I asked everyone to think of one word for their handprint for diabetes. Dad and Uncle Bill looked mildly confused. "What word?" Dad asked. "What's it supposed to mean?"
I explained, but neither Dad nor Bill seemed to fully understand. Mom said, "Don't worry about it. We'll come up with something for them."
A few minutes later, I was making chocolate pie when Dad called out, "Jerri, come here! I know my word!"
When I got to his side, he whispered from behind his hand, "Can it be a word and a symbol?" When I nodded, he whispered, "Your mom has diabetes. She's my word."