When I was younger, I didn’t think much about the word “gratitude.” It just seemed like one of those things adults talked about. But after everything I’ve been through, I’ve learned how important it really is.
My parents used to be happy together. We had fun family nights, road trips, and lots of laughter. But then, things started to change. Arguments became more common, and the happy moments felt fewer and farther between. One day, they sat me down and said they were getting a divorce. I didn’t really understand why everything had to fall apart. I just knew my family would never be the same.
As I was still trying to adjust to that new reality, something even harder happened: my dad passed away. It didn’t seem real. It felt like a terrible dream I couldn’t wake up from. I missed him so much. I still do. I miss the way he’d sing around the house, how he helped me with little things, and how safe I felt when he was around. Losing him made everything feel dark.
But even in all that sadness, something surprising started to happen. I began noticing the little things more. A hug from my mom when I was having a bad day. My stuffed animals keeping me company at night. Sunny, my lemon cow Squishmallow, became a bright spot when I needed comfort most. Perkins, my old stuffed dog, reminded me of memories with my dad and made me feel like a part of him was still with me.
Gratitude didn’t come all at once. It came slowly. I started writing down one good thing every day, no matter how small. A funny joke at lunch. A pretty sunset. A song that made me smile. Over time, I realized that being thankful helped me heal. It didn’t erase the pain, but it gave me strength.
Even though my life changed in ways I never expected, gratitude helped me see things differently. Instead of only focusing on what I lost, I also began to see what I still had—and all the love still around me.
I’m still learning, still growing, and still holding on to hope.
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