Sumeet and Sujata Handa

Life is unpredictable. It's rocky, scary, sad, and, sometimes, plain unfair. It resembles a roiling sea in which staying afloat in itself is an accomplishment. My inspirations aren't people who have changed the world, or saved people from burning buildings, or climbed Mount Everest. My inspirations are people who have managed to keep their head above water even in the face of fifty-foot waves.

None of us knew this, but from the moment he was born, my dad had a ticking time bomb in his head, called a cavernous malformation. It kept growing and growing, as he grew up, met and married my mother, became a partner at Deloitte Consulting, and had me and then my brother, Mahi. On March 5th, 2011, easily the worst day of my life, that bomb decided to burst, and my father suffered a massive brain bleed and a consequent stroke that damaged his pons, the bridge between the brain and the body. My father came close to death several times, lost almost all strength on the right side of his body, and moved in and out of hospitals that couldn't care less about him for six months until he finally came home in November of last year and was able to begin his daunting journey to recovery.

Through my dad's stroke and six months of hospital stays, do you know who stayed by his side literally day and night, being his voice, listening to doctors' negative remarks, and dealing with the grief of almost losing a loved one? Not my dad's mom, or sister, and certainly not his kids. His wife. My mother has stayed with my dad every moment in the past year, deftly fielding every cruel curveball life throws at her and my dad, managing to stay positive at the same time. She wouldn't be here if it weren't for my dad, and my dad wouldn't be here if it weren't for her, and that's why I couldn't pick just one person for my inspiration. My parents are my heroes, role models, rocks, and inspirations. They have shown me that in the face of anyone's worst nightmare, it is possible to keep one's head held high and keep on living.

When my dad fell sick, I was done, I was ready to give up. I was so angry and indignant because of what had happened to me, I didn't even realize what my parents were going through. My dad, a runner, weightlifter, workaholic, and avid golfer, couldn't walk, work half of his face, or even smile. But if you were to ask him, even after two hours of grueling physical therapy, if he was tired, he would shake his head no. My mother considers my dad her best friend. He was her support and her protector. Suddenly, when that shoulder to lean on was pulled away, she didn't fall. Instead, she returned the favor, always looking for new treatments, becoming my father's sole caretaker, and pushing the therapy no matter how disappointing the results seemed. On the other hand, through all of the abuse my dad's body has taken, he still manages to be there for my mom. He makes sure she's eating, tries to put her needs before his, and can still read her mind like it's an open book. 

I know it's a cliche that has been stated time and again, but my parents are my inspiration. Through all of these trials and tribulations, my parents have faithfully stood by each other, urging each other on, keeping each other from going under. They have taught me that no difficulty is too difficult, and that there is no excuse to fall even if the world is crashing down around me. Their dignity, love, and perseverance is what gets me out of bed every day. In some ways, my parents are like Atlas, the mythological character who had to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders. However, unlike Atlas, my parents have each other, and even though it is the whole world it sometimes feels like they are propping upright, with two people holding on, the task is much easier.