LOVE like JJ Scholarship in Memory of Jonathan "JJ" Day

The loss of my brother, Adam, in September 2025 was a defining tragedy, yet it has become the crucible in which my calling to medicine was permanently forged. Adam, only 20, was the embodiment of vitality and risk. Even with the "hammer" of epilepsy, full-body seizures, hanging over his head, he pursued life fearlessly. He would jump off the highest cliffs, he rock-climbed, snowboarded, and surfed, knowing that he could have a seizure and that he could even die. His refusal to let the condition or its side effects dictate the parameters of his life led him to forgo the medication, which he said "made him feel lifeless." He passed away due to a seizure while surfing, causing him to drown. Navigating this grief has transformed my initial fear into a profound sense of acceptance and provided a clear, purposeful direction for my future as a nurse. September 5th, my father called and said "All I know is he doesn't have a pulse." At that moment, I just begged God. When we arrived, the doctor told us his condition: He had a pulse but was on life support. For days we prayed for a miracle. In the hospital room, after a week of being sustained by machines, I was praying when an inexplicable peace washed over me—a deep sense of knowing that it was over. Moments after, my dad interrupted the prayer saying, "Now we pray for peace." He confirmed my brother wasn't coming out of this. In this moment, I knew God had him, and that peace—the wisdom that the Lord’s understanding is above ours—was my immediate salvation. In the moment of loss, everyone was mourning, but the peace God gave me allowed me to focus outward. I went to my mother and Adam's friends, hugging them and "speaking life" into their despair. This innate drive to care guided my actions and I realized this trauma could become a gift. The weekend after, I was scheduled to start my COPE Health Scholars internship at Kaiser. At first, going back to a hospital seemed impossible, but I realized Adam would want me to do this. In this internship, I discovered that even in the smallest acts—bringing a smile to a patient's face or comforting a family experiencing their own loss—I could transform my experience into meaningful service. I understood their pain, and that empathy became a powerful tool, allowing me to provide comfort and the strength to continue my work. My brother’s circumstances have shaped the kind of nurse I am driven to become. His reluctance to take his medication because “It made him feel lifeless” he said, revealed something new to me about traditional care—the failure to address the root of the problem and discover what works for the individual themselves. This painful lesson has solidified my commitment to not only pursue a Registered Nurse degree but also to specialize in functional medicine following time spent in acute bedside care. I am determined to help individuals find answers and navigate their paths to health by identifying and addressing the root cause of their diagnosis, rather than simply managing symptoms with prescriptions that create new problems, problems that can make a patient feel "lifeless." Adam’s death taught me that true healing requires empathy deeper than clinical procedure. By dedicating my career to compassionate, root-cause-focused nursing, I aim to honor his memory by approaching patient care with diligence and passion. My goal is to live fully, to feel deeply, and to ensure other patients and their families receive the empowering, holistic care Adam and all patients deserve.

Losing my amazing sister, Kinsey, has shaped me in ways that words cannot accurately express, and the loss quite literally changed my life. Kinsey was sweetness personified. If you spent time with Kinsey, you always left feeling encouraged. She had that affect on people. She was nine years older than me and loved me deeply. From watching endless Disney movies together to listening to the music we both enjoyed, time with Kinsey was always meaningful and fun. Kinsey always made me feel included in activities she did, even though I was definitely a pestering little brother. The reason for her amazing character was simple yet profound: her unwavering faith in Jesus Christ. Kinsey was born with a congenital heart defect and DiGeorge Syndrome; both tested her health every single day. She underwent six open-heart surgeries in her lifetime and fought for 20 difficult years before passing in 2018. However, Kinsey was never worried about her mortality. My father once shared that as a little girl, before very serious surgeries, she would tell him, “Don’t cry if something happens to me, because I’m going to go be with Jesus!” This childlike assurance rocked me to my core. How could anyone be so assured of their life and the life to come when death was near to every breath? She fought through many hospitalizations, surgeries, and challenges throughout her life with a sweetness and grace that was, well, just “Kinsey.” On her last day with us, I remember saying goodbye to my warrior sister. It was hard. She looked like a reflection of the battle she had been through, but I vividly remember telling her, “Kinsey... YOU WIN!” She had won the fight, and she was where she always wanted to be—with Jesus. My family prayed for Kinsey’s healing, and we got it. She is better than she has ever been by being with Jesus. A few months after Kinsey’s death, my parents went to California to process and share with trusted friends. I began to think about Kinsey and realized Jesus had saved her life and changed her for the better. I realized that I hadn’t been changed by Jesus, and I wanted to live like she had lived. So, I prayed for God to forgive me, and I decided to follow Him as my Savior that night. From that moment on, I found my purpose and identity. I’m no longer living just to die; I’m living to tell others about the One who defeated death and saved the souls of all who believe. I’m currently at Anderson University in South Carolina to major in Christian Studies and pursue theology and apologetics, with hopes to serve in ministry in some way and on the mission field as well. I’ve been able to talk to friends who are grieving, and I can relate to their pain. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. This has given me the ability to give to others something that only Jesus can give … hope. Hope beyond everything in this world, which will eventually pass away; hope in Jesus who lasts forever. Kinsey’s influence in my life has allowed me to show others that Jesus is the One to turn to in times of hurt. Kinsey left an impact on my life that is beyond words or even this life, and she will always be remembered! I wish she were still with me so badly, but I know I’ll get to see her one day soon. I know that I will be running ahead of everyone to give her the biggest hug!

Strawberry blonde hair, blue-green eyes, a freckled nose, a contagious laugh that lit up a dark room, and a love for butterflies and the color pink. These are just a few of the things that made up my beloved older sister Annie. And, when I was four, there was no one else in the world I wanted to become than her. It was a sweltering summer and my family celebrated the Minnesota heat by swimming in local lakes several times a week. One of these days, we had a blast, splashing around in the warm water with our friends. Annie repetitively dove under the water, working on her summer goal to do the perfect handstand. I’ve spent every moment since wishing we didn’t go to the beach that day. Little did we know, the water we swam in had high amounts of amoeba, which entered Annie’s nose, traveling to her brain during one of her near-perfect handstands. A week later, I felt lonely as I sat in the cold hospital room. Thoughts and confusion about Annie filled my mind. I couldn’t bear to look at her lying lifelessly in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, with tubes coming out of her little body. I didn’t understand why relatives kept showing up and giving me hugs, or why the Child Life Specialist kept checking to see if I needed anything. Above all, I didn't understand how somebody so vibrant could change so quickly. Days earlier Annie had been her normal bright self, and today she wasn’t waking up. But she’d be alright soon enough. We’d be dancing together in our living room in our dress-up clothes (which typically meant Annie putting me in a princess outfit)…That's what I told myself anyway. It’s said that the walls of hospitals hear more prayers than the walls of places of worship, because love is most felt when it’s leaving. I found this to be true over the next few days. I prayed for Annie every day, even though I didn’t really know how. I hoped that if someone was out there listening they would help Annie to feel better. But the prayers of a four year old were left unanswered. It has been fifteen years since my sister and best friend Annie died, and still I remember those moments at the hospital like it was yesterday. But the statement “life is lived in little moments,” is one I’ve truly come to understand. My memory of Annie is a composition of happy little moments. I’ve grown to smile when I think of her, rather than cry. When I see a butterfly, I feel it is her way of saying hello from the other side. Beautiful pink sunsets remind me of her memory. When something unexplainable happens in my rickety 1880 house, my family laughs and likes to see it as Annie’s ghost stopping by to say hello. And, when we go out to eat and are asked for a name for the order, we answer “Annie,” with no hesitation, just to hear her name called aloud. Annie’s life and death has taught me many things, but perhaps most importantly, it has inspired me to pursue a career in the nursing field. The kind and gentle care the nurses and child life specialists provided my sister and family helped to bring light into a very dark and sad time, easing our suffering. I have always thought their actions positively affected our last moments with my sister. Because of this, I have aspirations of dedicating my own career to doing the same for others.

My life, up until the age of 14, could be considered pretty normal. I grew up with both of my parents in the home, and had one sister, named Ava. She was my only sibling. Ava and I were three years apart, and we were best friends. We could tell each other all of our deepest secrets, and I always knew I could make her laugh and smile like nobody else. On April 13, 2021, our lives changed forever as a family when Ava was diagnosed with a Stage 4 Medulloblastoma brain tumor. She was flown for emergency surgery to remove the tumor on that fateful day. She was 11 years old when she was diagnosed, and she fought like a true soldier, suffering through 2 brain surgeries, 5 different chemotherapies, and 60 radiation treatments over the course of one year and 8 months. At the age of 13, Ava lost her battle with cancer. My mother, father, and I were with her when she took her last breath. Shortly after my sister’s death, my mother received a call from St. Jude Hospital genetics department informing us that Ava had tested positive for a rare genetic disorder known as Li-Fraumeni Syndrome (LFS). The St. Jude genetic staff then asked if I wanted to be tested for LFS since there was a 50-50 chance that I also would carry the gene. Unfortunately, I was also found to have the LFS gene. When you have this gene, there is a 50% chance that you will develop some type of cancer during your lifetime. Because of the concerns related to having LFS, St. Jude Hospital suggested that I begin coming to their facility every 6 months for preventative scans and tests. About a year and a half after I began participating in the preventative measures, St. Jude discovered a small high grade glioma in my brain. It was determined to be a very early version of an extremely aggressive type of brain cancer. I then had to also undergo brain surgery and 30 treatments of radiation. Ironically, my sister’s surgeon and her oncology team were now mine as well. As of March 2025, my last scan was clear and did not show any cancer or tumors. I will have my next scan in July 2025 and will be scanned every 3 months for quite some time. I am thankful that due to the preventative scans, my tumor was found very early, which improves my chances of long-term survival. I wish that my sister could have had the same. However, because of her brave fight, she saved my life. The twisted path that my life has taken has led me to have a desire to go into the medical field. After high school, I plan on continuing my education at EMCC to get my associate’s, then going on to a four-year college to complete my bachelor’s degree so that I can become a physician's assistant. I hope to someday possibly work for St. Jude Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. The people and staff there have become such an important part of my life throughout these last four years. As you can see, my life has definitely become far from normal. I am thankful for every day that I am given. I am thankful for having survived brain surgery and radiation treatment and that I am currently healthy and able to finish high school. Hopefully, I will be able to use my life experience to help others who may go through similar trials.