It was late 2009 when I found out my dad was diagnosed with stage two colon cancer.

It was the most difficult and worst part of my life; so far. All that was going through my mind was: how could this happen? How could my dad, my supporter, my concert buddy, my hero, have cancer? It was preposterous. Why him? Why did it have to be my father or anyone in my family or that I knew?

The sixth grade me didn’t know much about what cancer was, but I did know that death came to mind.

I couldn’t lose my father. No, not this soon. How could I survive knowing I won’t have my dad to be there beside me accomplishing things in life? How could I keep living knowing I didn’t have my dad there to take me to my first concert to see Gwen Stefani, or taking a road trip to Destin, Fla., in my uncle’s white truck, or even congratulating me after winning Student of the Year at an award assembly or hugging me at my class graduation?

I couldn’t lose my father; it would be the death of me.

So, he fought.

I fought.

He didn’t have a summer vacation, and neither did I. We decided not to go on our family vacation to Washington D.C. in the summer of 2010 because my dad wouldn’t have been able to really enjoy it because the chemo side-effects made him sick all the time. Visits to the White House and Ford’s Theatre were exchanged for visits to Texas Oncology, and the beautiful D.C. sky at night was exchanged for the basic beige-colored building baking in the Texas sun.

Yes, having cancer is hard, but taking chemotherapy and radiation treatments are difficult and drain the strength of the patient. Not everyone sticks with it. Although he knew it would be a painful and miserable experience, he persisted and kept going. My dad would open the front house door everyday after spending all day at work, and come home feeling ill and “not all there” because of the chemo. Still, he did not give up.

It was the hardest thing to see my dad weak. I have never seen my dad sad or just plain weak in my life until he got cancer.

It was just so hard.

But, my dad always kept his head up high, as did I, because we were determined to fight and beat cancer! Guerreros don’t ever give up, and my dad was not a quitter–never was and never will be.

I did all I could to keep my dad’s mind off the fact that he was sick. I made artwork for him when he was in the hospital, and he displayed it in his hospital room for the nurses and everyone who visited him to see it. My works of art took his mind off things, so I kept making art to make him think less of him being in the hospital and more about being at home in his study (otherwise known as the Oval Office) where his room is fully decked out in Ohio State, Dallas Cowboys and Lakers memorabilia and, of course, my artwork.

The last thing I wanted to do was bring him down.

After months of constantly going to chemotherapy week after week, the visits became less frequent, until suddenly we didn’t have to go again.

One day I got to go in with my dad when he went to talk to his doctor at Texas Oncology. I sat there on the light brown bench next to my dad, and all I remember are the words.

“You are 99 percent cancer free.”

There was complete silence right after the doctor said those words. My heart stopped and I’m pretty sure my dad’s did too.

It was finally over.

No more chemotherapy for him to do. No more needles being stabbed in his port located above his heart. No more being sick and tired all the time. No more of my dad saying “I have cancer.”

Now he could finally say these powerful words: “ I beat cancer!”

He did it!

We did it!

He still has to do regular doctor check-ups about every month just to make sure the cancer doesn’t come back and that he stays healthy. But if it does come back, we will be ready.

Although this was a horrid experience that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, it opened up my eyes and showed me the true meaning of life, and made me have flashbacks of all precious moments I’ve had with my dad.

Learn from my experience. Don’t wait for something traumatic to actually happen, like I did, to appreciate what you have each day. Because one day we are here and the next day we may not be.