If someone asked what my biggest fear is, my answer would come without hesitation: losing my mom. 

When I was in elementary school, that fear felt closer to reality than it ever should’ve had to be. My mom was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in 2017. She underwent surgery and radiation treatment.

I remember the morning of her surgery, she got me ready for school, and as I was leaving to get on the bus, her and my dad left to drive to the hospital. I remember being scared and confused, crying as she hugged me and left. I was too young to fully understand what was happening, but old enough to know that it was serious. 

But what I remember more than the fear is her strength. 

She never let her illness swallow our home. Even when she was the one who needed care, she made sure we were taken care of and felt protected. Cancer may have tested her body, but it never weakened the way she loved us. 

And my mom loves loudly. That’s where we are different. 

I have always been more closed off. Since I was a child, I have held my feelings tightly inside. I don’t say “I love you” easily. Most times I don’t say it at all. I can feel distant, even in my own family. It is not that I don’t care, but that I love quietly. 

My mom is the opposite. 

After everything she has endured with her health, she holds on to my dad, my brother and I even tighter. She is fiercely protective and says what she feels. There is nothing subtle about her love. 

And because we are so different, we argue and disagree. Sometimes we say things sharply or don’t understand each other at all. There are times we are on completely different wavelengths. 

But even in our most recent argument, she said something that meant more than everything else: “The only thing I care about is you.” 

She does not care about being right or winning the argument. She cares about me. That is who she is. 

Watching her build her career despite health struggles inspires me to follow her example. As a girl who wants to pursue a career in STEM, I look at her and see proof that women belong in traditionally male-dominated fields. Not just quietly working, but at the forefront of leadership. 

She shows me that obstacles do not disqualify you if you have ambition. But more than that, she shows me how to love. Even if I don’t say it enough. Even if I struggle to show it the way she does or meet her with silence. 

Beyond her resilience through cancer and beyond the obstacles that she faced as a woman with a leadership role in software engineering, she loves without restraint. 

I am who I am because she never loves me halfway. 

My mom survived cancer. But more importantly, she built a life defined not by what tried to take her down, but by who she chose to lift up. 

My biggest fear is losing her because she is the center of everything that makes me who I am. And so to my mom, even if I don’t say it often. 

I love you. 

Follow Aashi (@_aashipanchal_) and @CHSCampusNews on X.