I’m sure you’ve all heard the expression that every light casts a shadow, and that every bright spot in life is bound to turn to darkness eventually. I’m here to tell you that nothing is further from the truth. Rather, for every shadow cast, there must be a light somewhere, guiding it and instructing it. For every valley, there must be two peaks. There is no independent shadow lurking around the corner. Darkness does not exist without light, and there is no curse in life in which there is no blessing, for that which does not kill, strengthens.

The year before I started kindergarten, I discovered the incessant shadow that would dominate my life. My mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, a non-fatal nervous system disorder that simply weakens the body but never kills it. It starts small – a muscle twitch, a dizzy spell, petty phases that could be written off any medical records.

Multiple Sclerosis, or MS, is a sinister disease. It causes the body to destroy its own nerves, tearing through the pathways by which electric signals can travel. Each case is different, and every symptom is individual. There is no universal standard by which MS can be treated, because there is no universal standard by which MS can attack. No one can predict it, no one can prevent it, and no one can provide a cure.

As I said before, it started small. My mom described it to me later as simply “A dark cloud that told me something was wrong, but no one could identify.” Her legs grew weaker, her muscle coordination grew worse, and even her mind slipped slightly. Tasks that were once simple for her are now all-day marathons. Doing laundry is a project instead of a chore, and walking to the kitchen is a feat in and of itself.

She quit work as a high school math teacher at Mount Notre Dame and took disability. There have been different medicines, treatments, therapies, all to stop the progression. Some have worked, some have not. Nothing stopped it completely, but it has been slowed for the present.

Walkers, canes, wheelchairs, and scooters are simply common now. How could they not be? It’s been 13 years, and I fail to imagine life without them. She cannot work, can no longer teach math as she once did and the disease progresses still. Our family life has been unarguably altered, yet not necessarily for the worse.

Please understand: This is not a cry for sympathy. This is my life, and there is nothing about it I would change. My life has been built around the MS – it is everything I’ve grown up with, and it is everything in my family that I love. There is truth is the statement that every closed door opens many, many more, and I embrace the opportunity to enter them.

My relationship with my parents is stronger than anything I could have ever hoped for. My mom does not work, and as a result, constantly tries to talk to me, discuss anything with me – from philosophy to calculus to politics, and every day she cuts articles out of the paper and makes me argue my beliefs with her. Many late nights have been spent talking about the deeper points of life, and there are times I lose sleep because neither of us could just shut up. She and I are closer than anything I could have ever thought possible, simply because she cannot do as much as she used to, and I thank God every day for that opportunity.

As a former math teacher and physics major, there is nothing my mom loves more than to watch me struggle over a math or physics problem. Often times she grabs my Calculus book out of my hands, writes down all the problems, and then tries to do them next to me. She reads my physics book every time I have new notes, and I really believe she lives vicariously through my math and science career. I have always said that what MS stole from her physically she rose above and beyond mentally, and our relationship stands to testify that.

My father… My father is, without a doubt, the most respect-worthy man I could ever imagine. He stood by our family like a rock when the shadow of MS was cast, and he has been supportive beyond any obligation or duty. He works harder than anyone I know at two jobs, and he is living proof that chivalry and honor have not died, but are alive and well in today’s material world.

My life has been a roller-coaster of ups and downs, and I believe the MS pushed me down that first, massive hill. There have been turns, twists, depressions and peaks, tunnels and climbs outside the normal scope of life, and they have shaped everything I am thankful for in this world.

On the surface, life has been cruel. There is nothing but shadow and loss upon first glance. I beg you to look a bit deeper, as I do, and see that behind the darkness, almost hiding, there is a small yet firm light that continually burns as time flows on. I ask you: what is the light you have sought? Have you found it?

That light exists everywhere. At times it is obvious, and there seems to be no shadows. The light is massive – it encompasses miles, and it illuminates the night like a bonfire. More often than not, however, the light we so desperately search for and rarely find is but a barely sustained ember. It is a dull pulse of heat and glow, while everything surrounding it seems charred, black, and ashen. Yet I ask you to look closer at this light – see what it really is. For that miniscule glow is proof that hope still burns on despite the shadows of night. It is the solid reality that there is always something out there that struggles to push through the darkness. It burns on, despite oppression, despite the fact that all its companions have smoldered out. It is the essence of this world, contained in only a low, pale orange light that tells us life is worth living, and no matter how dark the night is, if you look hard enough, there is always light. For it is impossible for there to be shadow without light. Night is always followed by sunrise.