My parents separated and subsequently divorced when I was 12. My father moved out of the house into a rental a few blocks away. When I went over to his new house, I could see the trees in the backyard of the home he and my mother built over a couple of roofs. When my father came to visit me, my mother would make dinner for us before she left. It was a complex transition time, where they were both angry and grieving for the loss of their marriage. It was also one of the best decisions they ever made. But it was not the turning point.

My father began to suffer from mystery pains five years later. I was 17 and struggling through my senior year of high school with incredibly frequent and painful migraines. I spent more time with my dad so that someone was there when the pain started. I spent nights sleeping in the room below his, listening for cries of pain, trying to decide if they were bad enough to go upstairs and check on him. The worst part about this time was the fear my father experienced in the face of this mystery illness. I didn’t really sleep at his house to check on him; I slept there to quell the panic he felt when he woke, alone, with inexplicable pain. My mother and I both tried to help him but there was little we could do. His doctor couldn’t find anything.

On the eve of my last final for fall semester I was pulling an all-nighter. My mother was staying out late and I didn’t care until it started getting later and later and later. Finally I received a text. My mother had gotten a desperate call from dad and taken him into the hospital. They had found an abscess in his spine that was cutting off his spinal cord. To prevent paralysis, they had taken him into emergency surgery. And yet still, this was not the turning point.

My father did not recover easily. It turned out he had had a staphylococcus infection in his spine, which dissolved two of his vertebrae to create the abscess that pushed on his spinal cord. He had other injuries as well, like bruised ribs and a twisted knee. He suffered nerve damage, extreme weight loss, and, most of all, brain damage. He went through months of inpatient rehab. My mother and I visited almost every day, and family from all over the country came to help. Finally, my father was well enough to go home and had some of his closest friends stay with him.

My mother and I decided we had to get away from it all. We had spent two and a half months in and out of the hospital, working so hard to take care of my dad. It was time for a vacation. My mother bought ticket to Hawaii, with no exact plans. We wanted to go sit on a beach and relax.

The turning point came on the deck of our hotel room. We were sitting, eating fruit, drinking juice and iced tea as we looked out at the ocean. It was beautiful and, finally, we relaxed and began to talk. We talked about my parents divorce, about the extended family, and most of all about what would happen to dad now. The answer to that question wasn’t easy then and hasn’t gotten any easier. But what mattered most was my mother’s reminder of a promise she had made me many years before. In the midst of the divorce, I had asked her, “What will happen if something happens to one of you?”

“We are still a family,” she had told me, choking up. “We will always take care of each other, no matter what happens.”

In the years since she had said that, we hadn’t always acted like a family. But now, when the unthinkable had happened, we would stand together and be a family. That day, many miles from home, I knew that everything would be okay, that I was loved, and that life continues on. I knew that any problems I had with my mother were not all that important because she would always stand with me and I with her. I am still learning how to stand with her, but it’s the most important thing I can do.

Since that trip, I have learned so much from both my parents and myself during the struggles that followed my dad’s treatment and I have a better sense now of what type of person I want to be. I know now that people are marked more by hardship than happiness. But I also know that the happy moments are what strength us to withstand hardships. I know that success can be stolen in an instant, but hope and long-term plans are vital. And most of all I know that worry and anger, emotions we feel every day, are incredibly pointless. As I work to let go of my worries and angers and simply live, I look to my parents and continue to learn.