When I ten years old my mom was diagnosed with A.L.S., or Lou Gehrigh’s Disease. In five years I watched her go from a vibrant, healthy, thirty-five-year-old to someone who needed help doing just about everything, even breathing. Within a few years of being diagnosed she was bound to a wheelchair or bed and had little to no ability to move her muscles. Her nurses (not just the professional ones but her friends and family as well) had to do all the things for her that she couldn’t. Like brushing her teeth and hair, putting on her clothes, feeding her, and scratching her nose when she had an itch because she wasn’t able to lift her own arm.
Experiencing this at such a young age made it pretty difficult to complain about life. Even when I’m feeling really down or stressed out I remember that when I woke up this morning I stretched my legs and walked without any help. And even if I’m serious conflict with someone or have been truly hurt, I know that once we resolve things I’ll be able to throw my arms around them and squeeze them tightly. I know, no matter what my circumstances, that even my worst day is someone’s best day.