Anonymous

Luck. The definition states that this term is “success or failure brought by chance.” For a very long period of my lifetime, I considered myself lucky. I had great friends, lived with two nourishing parents, got good grades, and had lots of fun all of the time. I was always busy, but for this I was thankful for. After basking in what felt like the perfect life, I thanked my lucky stars just a bit too soon. In 2016, I took a wrecking ball to my day-to-day life. 

My dad and I never had a picture-perfect relationship, although a relationship did exist. It often consisted of trips to Lowes, long walks, and singing along to every single song on the country radio station without ever missing a single word. I am fortunate to have a father figure in my life and realized how much I took it for granted when I discovered how many people are not as blessed. One day in the car on the way home from practice, my dad picked up his phone at a stop light to answer a message from a woman whose name I did not recognize. Feeling uneasy, I peered over his shoulder to see who it was, however, the light turned green and the crisis was averted… for that moment. 

The hours to follow were heavy. I was nauseous although I had not eaten, confused although I knew what was going on, and anxious although I knew that my mom was the strongest person in my life. I waited for my parents to fall asleep that night, and inspected the situation a bit more. It was true. My dad was talking to another woman and I was the only person aware of it.

I slept in a pool of tears. My body was paralyzed and my mind a tornado of thoughts. It was up to me to interrupt the circumstances and as hard as it was going to be, I prayed for the strength to do so. My moms work day was obstructed by a phone call, in which I explained what I had seen. As expected, I was assured that our family would stay together. My picture perfect life would return to normal and it was promised that things would soon be resolved. My parents were counseled and their relationship was mended.

In spite of what I was guaranteed by my mother, my life was never going to return to the way it was before. Months after this occurrence, my dad was diagnosed with Amyloidosis, a life-threatening, incurable disease similar to cancer. He was diagnosed just weeks before a family beach trip. We did not cancel our plans because we were unaware of the progression of his disease and knew that the annual family beach trip was one of his most favorite times of the year. It was not until his perseverance ran out that he admitted to feeling out of breath, had no feeling in his hands, and exposed his swollen legs. Just three days into the trip, my dad returned home while I stayed with my grandparents and cousins at the beach. 

My dad’s symptoms immediately escalated and after visiting numerous doctors, it was decided that the most efficient place for him to get treated was 547 miles away in an out of state northern medical center. Thus, my double life had begun. 

I started my very first day of high-school without my parents. They were gone for weeks on end, leaving my siblings and me home under the supervision of different family members, shuffling in and out week by week. If you know me, you would know that I am not a fan of adjusting to change in routine. My life was uprooted and I had no clue what to do about it. I missed a lot of school, living out of a closet-sized Airbnb and traveling back by plane when the weekends were over. Needless to say, I was strained and although I suffered with anxiety previously, this was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Because of this, I began an antidepressant. Not only did this new routine bring me lots of stress, but it also brought me lots of hate. I hated that my family was suffering, I hated that I was scared, I hated that my life was regulated by an ant-sized pill, and most of all, I hated that I hid all of my feelings for so long. 

It was not until a supportive movement for my dad to see while he was away trended on Facebook, that my peers had any idea of what I was going through or why I was so absent in what should have been my most adventurous year of highschool. The support we received was unreal. I would often come home to people cutting our grass, dropping off meals on our porch, and the mailman delivering a boat-load of letters in the mail… and for all of these acts of kindness, I am lucky. 

In the year of 2017, my dad was sent into remission after chemotherapy, a stem cell transplant, and months of hemodialysis out of a bedroom transformed into a hospital room in our very own home. He continues to visit the medical center for testing but that is no inconvenience compared to the rocky road my life was in the year 2016. 

These events changed my life in a way that an essay or a podcast would never be able to explain. I now have a greater sense of what it means to be lucky. I am lucky that my dad was sent into remission and that the support of the community had such a large impact on his mental health during a time where it was very sensitive. Most of all, I am lucky to have uncovered the relationship I was always lacking with my father. My family is now more close-knit than it had ever been before, and after a long time of considering whether or not him being diagnosed with such a frightening disease was considered “lucky”, I am now able to reflect and conclude that in fact, it was. My father did not deserve a threatening sickness, however without the happenings of 2016 there is no way my family could ever be the group of best friends that we are now. Next time someone tells you that “everything happens for a reason”, do not overlook the cliche meaning. Instead, consider yourself lucky that one day you will discover the significance of every event that occurs in your life.