The minute people start stringing Christmas lights, you can’t help but reflect on the past year.

In 2016, we lost Muhammad Ali and Prince, my family lost three members to cancer and Trump is our President Elect. So when my mother was also diagnosed with cancer a little over a month ago, it was hard to respond with any additional shock. We were emotionally floored for sure, but if 2016 didn’t teach us anything else, it’s that no matter what happened today, you still have to wake up the next morning— if you’re lucky enough to wake up at all.

As with millions of us going through our own personal milestones, it’s easy to find reasons not to be thankful as we descend into the holidays. Time, like cancer, is relentless—and doesn’t give a damn about your feelings.

We remained optimistic.

My mother moved in with my family this summer after her husband, my step-father, passed away from cancer not even a year after his diagnosis. I was happy to have her close in her new home during such a devastating announcement. Her oncologist said she needed immediate surgery, and her planned trip to Thailand right after Thanksgiving would need to be postponed. Everything took a backseat to her health.

We remained optimistic.

Procedurally, the first surgery went well. Our oncologist said he wanted to go in aggressively, and if he was successful, my mother may not need radiation or chemotherapy. She had a rough recovery from the procedure at home with some new temporarily attached medical equipment she had to haul around the house until doc said otherwise. Less than a week after the procedure, her doctor was amazed at her how well her 70-year-old body was healing, but he also told us the procedure was not a success. He suggested another, more radical procedure to cut out and remove the cancer, and it would need to be done immediately to prevent spreading. She agreed to go under again.

We remained optimistic.

She spent days in the hospital, and continued her recovery at home. She was doped up with doctor’s orders to not do absolutely anything except keep herself clean while recovering. It was rough. She had more equipment attached to her. It might as well have been a weighted ball and chain for someone so active and full of life.

This year, our Thanksgiving feast, cooked and enjoyed by our family members was extra special. Even in the midst of a challenging 2016, we all cooked a dish. Even our 5-year-old made fresh cranberry sauce. We laughed more often than usual; there were more hugs. Only six of us around the table, and the house overflowed with gratitude.

We remain thankful.

Two days prior to our perfect 2016 feast, my mother’s oncologist told us the most recent results showed she was 100 percent cancer-FREE. No more surgeries, no chemo, no radiation, no pills after she heals from the surgery.

We remain thankful for the will to live and persevere. Thankful for the opportunity to make new memories. Thankful for medical professionals and their service to humanity. Thankful for our loved ones we still have. Thankful to have more time. She’s relentless.