Last week I was babysitting two young boys in my neighborhood while their parents ran errands. It started off as most of my babysitting gigs do – we put together a puzzle, played tickle monster, and competed over a game of Zingo (for those of you who don’t know, this is basically bingo for younger humans. Needless to say, it’s a very good time). During the game, the five-year-old boy told me that he had completed his bravery mission for the month and was excited to see what his Mom was going to get him as a reward. I looked at him quizzically. What was this bravery mission he spoke of? His explanation resonated deeply with me, someone twenty-two years his senior.

If someone had asked me four years ago how I would react if I found my mother on the floor after an accidental alcohol overdose, I would have told them that I would hyperventilate, scream or cry hysterically. But that’s not what happened. When I found my mother lying motionless next to her bed that early morning in June of 2013, I just froze. I woke my father who was asleep in the next room and then called an ambulance. And if someone had asked me that morning how I would feel four years later, I probably would have told them that I would be living in deep, anguishing mourning. But that’s not what happened either.