November 11, 2002 was the day I found out my mother had multiple sclerosis. It was back in the time when any medical issue with her was scary and limitless. Her body was entirely numb on one side; the doctors were guessing she had had either a stroke or a brain tumor. Like I always, I was preparing for the worst but hoping for the best.
My cell phone rang as I was on my way to run an interview at the Ginsberg Center. I was walking down the street in front of the business school, across from my previous home of East Quad. When she told me, my heart stopped. I sat down on the ledge, just in case. She sounded relieved and as she told me what it meant, I became more and more upset and scared. I don't know how I made it home. I cried the whole way and for someone who doesn't cry, crying in the middle of Ann Arbor for five blocks is impressive. It was a beautifully sunny November day, but cool. I couldn't get over how beautiful the world seemed when so much was changing. I watched how people walked knowing that my mother would never have the freedom to walk carefree again. Nothing was ever the same.
