Why I Believe in Gratitude — Even in Pain

Three years ago, I found myself standing in the middle of a life I thought was just beginning — a new job, a new city, and a fresh start in San Diego County after a long eight-hour drive from the San Francisco Bay Area.

But on the very day I moved into my new home, everything changed.

As the movers were unloading boxes, I received a text that stopped time: my mother had gone into cardiac arrest. The doctors didn’t expect her to survive.

I immediately got back into my car and drove through the night to Northern California, not knowing what I would say or do when I arrived — only knowing I needed to be there. I needed to pray with her. And I needed to whisper something, even if she couldn’t hear it:
“I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Our relationship had always been complicated. But love and faith made the next step clear.

When I finally walked into her ICU room, she was unresponsive — intubated, surrounded by tubes and machines. Still, I stood by her side and began to pray. And as I did, I decided to give thanks to God. At first, it was for the gift of life. Shortly afterward, I began to express gratitude not for the pain, but for the hidden gifts within it.

Even when it didn’t make sense, I whispered thanks for the smallest things.
But they were honest. And over time, they became powerful.

Six months later, my mother woke up. She continues to do well today.

Since then, gratitude has become the rhythm of my soul. It taught me to notice the sacred in the ordinary. To praise God not just for the miracles, but for the moments that seemed invisible.