I was As I sat in biology, clicking my pen absentmindedly, the lesson on photosynthesis blurred into the background. I couldn't even focus on the gossiping happening behind me. All I could think about was the truly terrifying bright red T-shirt I was wearing. I instantly stood and bowed at my teacher as I fled the room. I couldn't possibly wear this shirt, not today, not ever. That shirt brought me back to one of our random day trips when my mom smiled and said she loved it. I never imagined that day that it would be the last shirt she would ever see me wear. My mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer when I was in my freshman year and passed the end of my junior year. I believed that with every birthday wish, every coin tossed into a fountain, and every 11:11 I saw on the clock she would get better. Yet, as I watched her come home from treatment day after day, she gave me something far more lasting. The strength that I never thought I could grasp. She let me understand her inner thoughts and feelings. She taught me, since I was young, to always be able to change and grow, to never stay stagnant. So that assurance always lingered. As time passed, my duty to enact her lesson came to the forefront. I had to make a switch immediately, to make sure every day had a purpose, not only for me but for my mom and my little brother. I had to roll with change not only with resilience but with the kindness and authenticity that my mom instilled in me. My principal told me it was okay to be stagnant. I couldn’t hear it—couldn’t hear that stagnancy was part of healing. To me, it felt like losing time, like every second I spent in grief was a second wasted, a second my mom wouldn't want me to dwell on. As I marched home, I threw that shirt into the deep depths of my closet and my mind. I knew my mom wanted me to grow in ways she never could, to make something of myself, and to make sure my little brother had a happy, loving life. I couldn't let grief or stagnancy get in the way of that. As the older sibling, I had to be his source of strength. So I made that my goal over the summer. With my father working, I stayed home to make sure the house and my brother were well taken care of. I was constantly on the move, whether playing superheroes or cleaning the continuous mess of having a 7-year-old in the home. I learned to keep myself busy, but with this newfound hustling, I never focused on myself. One morning as I was washing the dishes, I looked down and realized I saw it. I saw the ruby red T-shirt that used to make me feel ill. Now it's just a shirt that reflected my mom's excited expression when she picked it up, rather than the worst day of my life. This realization had a double meaning, showing that I grew from my first state which was my intention. But I also learned that instead of seeing the bad and ignoring them. I need to look at everything possible and experience the little memories I had the privilege of getting to experience with her. Being stagnant is beautiful because when you stop and truly feel it, you can understand the love that still surrounds you every single day.