Brian Leahy Memorial Scholarship

There are moments when grief enters not like a storm, but like a silence. A pause at the dinner table. An unanswered call. A breath held too long. When my father was diagnosed with cancer, my family didn’t fall apart—we quieted. Time slowed, and everything became tender. Our house, once filled with movement and chatter, took on a hush, as though speaking too loudly might break something sacred. My mother, a nurse, was already fluent in the language of pain. But no degree or training could prepare her for the particular ache of watching the person you love disappear in slow motion. Still, she handled it with a kind of grace that felt impossible. She scheduled treatments, managed medications, juggled insurance claims with one hand and held my father’s with the other. She worked twelve-hour shifts and came home to care for him as if sleep were optional. As if her love could outpace the disease. And maybe in some ways it did. She never let us feel the full weight of what we were losing, even when it was written all over her face. She smiled when my dad wanted to sit outside, even if she had to help him down every step. She packed my lunch for school on the days I couldn’t remember how to do anything but cry. She taught me that caretaking is not about martyrdom—it’s about presence. About showing up even when your heart is breaking. And me—I was the daughter learning to hold two things at once: the desire to scream, and the responsibility to be still. I learned to be small, to not take up too much space. I tiptoed through the house so my father could rest. I spoke softly. I said I love you every time I left the room, just in case. I practiced lines for my school play with him, even when his voice was faint. I learned to do my own laundry. I learned to sit with uncertainty. I learned that sometimes growing up happens not in big leaps, but in tiny, necessary steps. We never had a dramatic family meeting. No sobbing on the floor, no dramatic declarations. Just small mercies: warm soup, a shared blanket, silence that meant I’m here. That was how we faced it—together, and gently. When the end came, it was not loud. My mom stood in the doorway, and I knew. There were no sirens. No last-minute rush. Just the stillness of knowing, and the quiet hum of a world continuing without him. Grief didn’t roar—it settled, like dust on windowsills. Like breath leaving a room. And still, my mother stood. In the days that followed, we learned to build something new—not in spite of the loss, but because of it. I started setting reminders to eat lunch. I asked teachers for help. I practiced lines with my mom. I watched her carry on with an aching kind of strength that made room for both sorrow and joy. We learned that love doesn’t vanish with a diagnosis. It deepens. It roots. It lingers in the quiet and teaches you how to carry each other when the storm never quite passes.

Brian Leahy and his family inspired me more than anyone else to continue on with my Nursing Education. I was a caregiver for Brian for the last three months of his life and was lucky enough to see him at his best and was able to obtain a good rapport with him. I was just starting my CNA job when I came across Brian. After working there for a few weeks, I was praised and told "This is the career for you" and "You're right where you need to be" by my work colleagues, family, and friends. Coming from another career background where I was unhappy this meant a lot and gave me the push that I needed. Amongst doing school and working, sometimes it can be difficult to gain that understanding and clarification because it gets challenging. Brian and his family were the ones to push me and encourage me during my time there and truly became my motivating force. Currently, I am pursuing Nursing as my future career because I love being around and helping people. I first started home healthcare a few months ago and quickly gained a good rapport with some of my patients, and colleagues. Getting to know them and seeing how I make an impact on both the patient as a whole and the families, and how it made me feel solidified that I was on the right career path for me. There is nothing like being the person someone looks forward to seeing daily and the satisfaction of knowing you're the "good" in someone's day. Seeing progress and improvement and knowing I played a part in the progress made it such a reward in itself. Nursing has always been at the forefront of my mind. Between school and being a CNA I have been able to acquire numerous skills and bedside manners that I wouldn't have obtained without support and dedication even when things get hard. Recently, I have started clinical, which has also clarified my decision to go into Nursing. I love the fast-paced environment and being able to connect with my patients on a personal level to develop good patient-centered care. With each patient I encounter the drive to help and make them as comfortable as possible increasingly gets bigger. I know I am on the right path for me, I just have to seek it out until the end. There is no greater reward than knowing you made an impact on someone's life, and you were a part of their progress! That is what Nursing is about and why I am striving to become the best Nurse I can be!