What happened in Part I

Whether or not we have a chronic disease, we all do what we have to do to get through each day, and sometimes that means simply putting one foot in front of the other. But if we recognize what we're up against, we can face our obstacles head on, and go beyond just scraping by. And from there, we can heal and grow. This is the story of a stressed out mom who learns an important life lesson - a universal truth - in the least likely of places, from the least likely people.

*The names of some people and places have been changed.

...My daughter, Paige, was 17-years old, rebellious and distant. She was struggling in school, academically and socially but was determined to go to the Goth Convention in New York City. For the sake of my daughter's safety - and my sanity, Paige, my friend Kelly, and I flew a thousand miles New York to the weekend convention...Everything seemed to be going well until my automatic mom clock woke me at 2:03am Saturday morning. Paige was not there... I became wild with worry and anxiety held me in its grip. I lay in the dark, clinging desperately to my prayers for Paige's safe and soon return, yet told myself that if she didn't walk through that door within the next five minutes I'd lose my mind.

"I'm home, mom." At 2:08am Paige gently tapped me on the shoulder.

I squeezed her hand, kissed it, put it to my cheek, and held it there.

"Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Good. Well, good night, honey. Now get some sleep."

She gave me a hug and a pat. "You too, mom."

I began to breathe again. "Thank you, God."

I breathed again. "I love you, Paige."

"I love you too, mom."

It was Saturday afternoon and I was standing outside the entrance of the hotel preparing to phone home. Just a few feet from me were two young men from the convention, one with tattoos covering his shaved head. The design was a stunning, intricate series of fine flowing lines and swirls in deep blue. We chatted a bit about the amazing artwork as they began preparing to take some photos. These guys seemed nice enough, reserved and polite. All was well.

A moment later I was startled by squeals coming from two pretty teenage girls inside a Mercedes Benz slowly passing by; they were pointing and laughing at the two young men, yelling, "@#$%&*# freaks!" They laughed again and the car sped off. The men briefly looked up and without a word went back to work. My heart ached, and at that moment it dawned on me that in spite of all the confusion and concern over my daughter I knew one thing for sure - she would never be like those girls - and of that I was very proud.

On the last day of our time in Manhattan, after a weekend of rich meals, late nights (and a few glasses of wine for Kelly and me), Paige, who seemed none-the-worse for wear and genuinely happy to be with us, invited us to join her for breakfast at a restaurant she'd discovered.