Ever since I was a child, so picture a little Asian with squinty eyes and bangs cut evenly above her eyebrows, I knew what family was. However, I never really understood what it meant. Before the age of one-year-old, the Chinese stork placed me into the arms of my parents in a little town called Shrewsbury, Massachusetts.

Up until second grade, I never knew I was adopted. I hardly knew what it meant, and I certainly did not have the attention span to super, Asian focus like I do today. My mom volunteered to help my second-grade class with reading, and a couple of my classmates asked her, "Lianne's mom, why doesn't Lianne look like you?"

Before my mom could reply, a student said, "She must look like her father." Both of my parents are Caucasian, so I guess you could say I got more of my unique personality from them versus physical looks. Then, my mom said, "No, she was adopted by her father and me." My peers' faces lit up like a Christmas tree. They thought it was super cool, and so did I at that age. I wore it like a shiny badge proudly placed on my forehead.

That day, I was the spotlight kid.

Recently, I had the opportunity to visit my grandparents who I hadn't seen since I was five. My dad and I hopped on a plane and flew to wicked hot, wicked dry, New Mexico. Yes, home of "Breaking Bad." And yes, many gift shops in New Mexico wouldn't let you forget it. When my dad and I first arrived at my grandparent's house, I was excited, but I was also really nervous. Why nervous? You see, a few years back, my grandfather suffered from a stroke. Earlier this year, he had a severe case of shingles that affected his cornea and his physical strength. My grandmother opened the door and welcomed us with open arms, my grandfather, on the other hand, was sitting in his wheelchair. On and off from day one of our visit, I kept having flashbacks of my mom's dad – he too was frail but was in the hospital practically on his deathbed. And yes, I watched him passed away right in front of my eleven-year-old eyes.

I had mixed emotions of wanting to talk to my grandfather, my dad's dad, but at the same time, I was afraid of hurting him or tiring him out too quickly. To me, he was a china doll. Inside my head, I felt like I was dehumanizing him and I felt awful about it. It's not like my grandfather intentionally wanted to have a stroke, shingles, and prostate cancer happen to him. It's not like he wanted to be physically damaged to do daily things we might take for granted. Alongside my grandmother and my dad's story reminiscing, I would see my grandfather sneak in a chuckle or two. It made my heart happy, and I only wanted more happiness to spur during our weekend visit. It most certainly did. His smile shed the fact that he was frail, shed the fact that he was deteriorating, shed the fact that he was in a wheelchair. Bonus points: my dad and I got my grandparents to order take out for the first time and actually enjoy some pizza.

In addition to this family strife, my mom a year-and-a-half ago, she suffered from a kidney stone that turned into sepsis, which made her lose 70% of her kidney function. Hello people, that's more than half! It happened during my junior year of college, and since I was the youngest and farthest family member, I was the last one to find out about her health issues through the smartphone web. I had never been through a scarier, longer four days which eventually became two weeks, of my life. Yes, there was one day I only slept for either half an hour or an hour, made myself a grilled cheese at 2 AM, and basically pulled an all-nighter. Then, went to my 7:30 AM class and didn't get home until 5:30 pm. Saying I was a mess was an understatement. I was a high-functioning train wreck. My brothers, my close friends and their families, and my gymnastics coaches were all there for me and helped me get through one of the roughest times in my life. Don't worry, my mom is living her best life and defying all odds (i.e., kicking ass).

I still remember when I had to leave my family, once my mom recovered from her near-death experience and was finally able to come home after being in the ICU for six days, one of my brothers bear hugged me and said: "Lianne, remember family comes first. Always." I will never, ever forget it. Despite all of what has happened to my family and I, we are stronger than ever, funnier than ever, and more importantly, more sarcastic than ever. Although I'm not blood-related to my adopted family, they are the best kind of blood I could have ever imagined.