I was used to the word cancer by the time I had learned to talk. My dad had been battling a very rare form of it called multiple myeloma, long outlasting any date the doctor gave him. Every life expectancy, “few years…few months…few days” but he always stayed. You could never tell that something was wrong, he walked around with a head full of thick brown hair and a smile on his face. But that never meant he was okay. His treatments were expensive and the bills were piling up. It forced our family into financial hardship and for some time we slept on the floor of my Grandma’s spare bedroom. It wasn’t practical but we had a roof, and each other. My Junior year of high school the doctors gave an unsettling announcement, the treatments were not working anymore. We sat on this information and looked for answers, until one doctor suggested a possible second chance. It was a new type of chemo called immunotherapy, no one knew for sure if it would do anything, but he took a fighting chance. My dad would have to spend a few weeks in the hospital while getting treatment to ensure his body could handle it. My mom spent day and night with him at the hospital. True love is laying in the most uncomfortable chair of your life, just to be close. I wasn’t allowed to stay with him or even visit so I was to stay in our little apartment alone. I was stuck in a constant state of anxiety looming over me. It was a challenge having to juggle being a student while knowing the current state of my father, but I managed. Art was a true escape for me, and always has been. My earliest memories were of me and my dad coloring with yellow crayons in my Elmo coloring book. Creativity always made my world at ease, and momentarily the weight of fear had been lifted away. During the weeks of his treatment, I drew on just about anything I could get my hands on, napkins, canvas, wood, even my shoes. It was a distraction, like nothing else mattered. To the shock of everyone, the treatment worked. Although his cancer would never be fully gone, due to multiple myeloma only being treatable, his charts showed significant improvement. The weight was lifted at last. He was doing well, sending me photos and videos of himself and his adventures at the hospital. Since being released he is still getting weekly treatments but his cancer is labeled as manageable. The loom of cancer keeping me up at night had finally gone away. Just last month, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a shock to us all. I felt once again, the world shatter. It all happened so fast, taking her to doctors across town, discussing scary treatment words. Only a few weeks after her diagnosis she would undergo a mastectomy. I was enraged for her, for both of my parents and often thought: why? Why both of them? In order to decrease the chances of it coming back, she started chemo a few weeks ago. Watching my mother's once long brunette hair come out in clumps was not how I envisioned my last year of high school to go. Although I don’t know what the future holds, I continue to pursue art on a daily basis. Whether it be painting, coloring, or just simple doodles. Creativity has, and will always be my biggest strength through all the hard times.