When I was seventeen years old, my grandfather lost his lifelong crude battle to diabetes. Just one year later my aunty lost hers to kidney failure. As long as I shall live, I do not believe I will ever forget the first moment I saw their once vibrant face in those cold and unforgiving caskets. I won’t forget their lifeless and defeated hands, or how their pale lips would never utter another joke or speak their rooted Newe Paiute language to their grandchildren. Even though the day of my tuguh’s (grandfather) journey was undoubtedly the worst day of my life, I wish I could relive it just to be with him one more time. Since that moment, I have felt as if all of my grief and longing resides underneath my skin with nothing to relieve the pressure. Diabetes is serious. Diabetes is deadly. To see and experience the devastating impact, it can have on a population, sadly, one need look no further than the American Indian and Alaskan Native communities throughout the nation.