So my son is 15 now. He’s had diabetes for 7 years and 5 months. He is such a great kid and from the very beginning he wanted to take charge of his diabetes. For year after year, his A1C was terrific. And my wife and I knew we were doing the right thing by letting him take charge as much as he could. After all, he’s the one that’s going to live with this disease the rest of his life (or until there’s a cure).

It seemed like a perfect plan. And he did such a fine job that we settled into our supportive yet very uninvolved roles. Well, then several months ago, he had his first A1c over 8. It was shocking. I hardly knew what to say. His doctor hardly knew what to say. My son had been a star patient up to this point.

So we had a good discussion. The doctor reminded my son of some of the basics that he was letting slide. We all committed to being more conscientious. And for a few days we were. But then I sensed that I was annoying my son a little, so I backed off, reassuring myself that I knew he could do it if he wanted to.

Three months later, we went to his check up anxious to see what progress he had made. His A1c was lower—by 0.2—but was still over 8. More discussion with the doctor. More reminders. More commitment.

And now I find myself in this awkward and frightening position. I can see some of my son’s bad diabetes habits. I know that with more diligent effort he could quickly get his A1c below 7. But I can also see in his body language and hear in his tone of voice that he wants to handle this. He doesn’t want me watching over his shoulder and asking questions all the time. But at the same time, I know the tissue damage that’s happening every time he runs high. I know the risks. And I remember how invincible I felt at 15. I completely understand why he feels like it’s “not a big deal.”

So I’m afraid I’m doing the wrong thing.

I’m afraid of alienating my son.

I’m afraid of what’s happening inside his body.

I’m afraid I may look back at this time in his life and have regrets.