Hope is a word commonly used in everyday life, "I hope my team win today", or "I hope it doesn't rain". The word hope for me has recently taken on a more poignant meaning.

I cannot articulate the emotions I had the day my dad was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease. I remember the overwhelming looks of sadness, grief and pain etched on my parents' faces as they walked through the door, the fear and dread of having to somehow explain this to every single one of their loved ones clearly weighing heavy on their minds. I remember feeling a sense of helplessness.

Why him? A question that if you allow it, will burn a hole in your heart and in your mind, a question that inconceivabely in the 21st century we do not have the answer to. MND is terminal, there is no treatment, there is no cure.

Not yet.

But hope. There is hope. Hope that one day we will be able to understand this disease, hope that one day we will have a cure, hope that one day no more families will be devastated by MND and we will have beaten this disease. What a thought... what a dream.

But that is not the current reality. The reality at the moment is that a third of people living with MND will die within a single year of fighting, the reality is that over half will lose their battle within 2 years. The reality is a proud dad will lose the ability to walk alongside his children, a loving grandad will lose the ability to hold his grandaughter, a devoted husband will lose his ability to tell his wife that he loves her.

My dad is my reason for hope. The fight in the people living with MND can only take us so far in our journey for hope. We need to create the hope that will keep them fighting on. We need to fund vital research and work done by the incredible people at the MND association, so we can continue to hope for a world free from MND.

Dad you are my hero, always have, always will be.

I love you.