Jackanow Suicide Awareness Scholarship

Losing my dad to suicide changed the way I look at life not because it broke me down, but because it forced me to grow up faster, to think differently, and to take responsibility for my future in a way most people my age don’t have to. I was 13 when I lost my father he missed my promotion and many other life changing events but my dad wasn’t just a father he was the example I would’ve learned everything from. He was a car guy, a business owner, and someone who built his reputation on doing things right. Whether it was paintwork, bodywork, or building cars from the ground up, people respected him because he didn’t cut corners. His work spoke for itself. That’s something I’ve carried with me ever since. When I lost him, I didn’t just lose a parent I lost a mentor before I ever got the chance to fully learn from him. And that’s what sticks with me the most. I now spend my time working toward the same things he cared about building, creating, working with my hands, but also developing myself in business and in life. One of the biggest things that connects me to him now is the car he left behind his 240SX. I had to take that car as my own project. I didn’t know everything I needed to know to finish it, but that’s part of the story. I’ve been figuring it out piece by piece, mistake by mistake, learning as I go the same way he built himself up. That car is more than just a car to me it’s a piece of him and a reminder that I can still build something great, even without the perfect blueprint or the perfect teacher. But I don’t walk around feeling sorry for myself. That’s not who I am I never felt the need to tell or let it define me I don’t want a pity party. I’m happy with where I’m going because I know what I’m working toward. I’m in school full-time at CC but transferred to Arizona State University studying Global Management. I work full-time because I’ve always believed in handling my own responsibilities and being independent. What my dad’s passing really taught me is how important it is to not waste time, to push yourself, and to stay real to who you are. He could’ve been even more successful if he had the support or resources that I’m now chasing for myself. That’s part of why I take school seriously. I don’t want to just pass classes I want to understand what I’m learning. I want to be able to travel, work internationally, and build a future where I’m respected for doing honest, quality work just like he was. Therapy has helped me deal with the loss in a real way. Grief doesn’t go away it just changes how you carry it. Working on the car has been its own kind of therapy too. Every time I make progress on it, I’m reminded that I’m moving forward. I’m still dealing with the loss, and I probably always will be, but I know how to keep going. This scholarship would help me focus more on what matters less time worrying about financial stress and more time learning, working, and improving myself. I don’t expect anything to be handed to me. That’s not how I was raised. But I do know that any support I receive will be put to good use not just for myself, but for what I’m trying to build long-term. At the end of the day, I’m driven by what could have been not in a way that holds me back, but in a way that pushes me forward. I almost had the best teacher in the world right in front of me. I didn’t get that full opportunity but that doesn’t mean I’m done learning or growing. I’m committed to working hard, staying true to who I am, and building a life that my dad would be proud of not because I’m trying to be him, but because I’m trying to take what he left me and make something even greater with it.

On January 17th, 2025, my life changed forever. My father, John Hoffman, my best friend and my biggest motivator died by suicide. He was living in California at the time, while I was attending college in Arizona, pursuing the dreams he had always encouraged me to chase. After an argument with his girlfriend, he made a decision that left a hole in my life that I am still trying to understand. My father was more than a parent; he was my confidant, the one person who loved me unconditionally and listened to every thought, fear, and hope I had. He inspired me to believe in myself when I struggled to. I had believed that he would be with me forever. We had talks of him walking me down the isle or how he would he would be the "cool grandpa" for my children. Now whenever I think of these events there is just a hole where he would be. His death felt like the ground beneath me had shattered. Emotionally, I have not recovered completely. Grief comes and goes in waves. Some days, it feels manageable; others, it feels like the weight of missing him could crush me. The hardest part is the feeling that I lost the one person who truly understood me. My dad was not married and I was his only child and because I was 18, everything surrounding his death fell to me. I still remember when I had gotten the phone call from the Sheriff's office. When he told me that my father had passed away I was devastated. Initially I had assumed maybe he had gotten in a car accident or something similar in nature, but then he broke the news to me that he had taken his own life. I did not believe him at first. He had to be lying. It wasn't possible. But it was possible, and he was not lying to me. I sobbed for the next couple of days, unable to leave my bed or do anything. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I just sat there and cried until I ran out of tears. I hardly had much time to mourn before I was thrown into the whirlwind of paperwork and lawyers. My grandparents, my father's parents, had helped me through much of this process. All of the signatures and processes were sickening. I didn't want any of it. I just wanted my dad. In the aftermath of his death, I found myself pulling away from many people. It seemed like every conversation circled back to what had happened, and I couldn’t bear to keep reliving it over and over again. Isolation felt safer, even if it wasn’t healthy. However, I realized that connection was one of the few things that could help me heal. Through countless phone calls, visits, and late-night talks, I found that there were far more people who cared about me than I had ever realized. Their patience and presence became a lifeline when I needed it most. Another important part of how I have dealt with this loss is through writing. Sometimes I write letters to my father, telling him about my day, my fears, my small victories, and the moments I wish he could have shared with me. Other times, I simply journal my feelings without any clear structure. Writing gives me a way to process my grief in a private, honest way without the fear of judgment. It feels like a conversation that, while one-sided, still keeps a small thread of our bond alive. School has helped me cope in a way as well. It has given me a good distraction and something to put my thoughts and concentration into. My father always stressed the importance of school to me and so in light of his death I have begun pushing myself harder than before, wanting to take advantage of the life I have for him. While my GPA has suffered slightly from the time I lost to deal with his death, I am confident that I will make it better. I will not allow myself to waste away such precious opportunities. This devastating loss has taught me lessons I never wanted to learn but that I now carry with me every day. Losing someone that had been by my side for my entire life was such a mind altering even, changing the whole way I think about life itself. It has changed my appreciation for everything. Most importantly, I have learned that life continues, even when it feels impossible. My father’s death does not define the rest of my life; rather, how I live now can honor him and the love he gave me. Every class I attend, every goal I pursue, and every step forward I take is a testament to his belief in me. Even when it feels like my world is ending, I know I have to keep moving forward—not just for myself, but for him. Grief is not something that ends or that has a clear path. I am learning that healing is not about forgetting, but about finding ways to live with the loss and still move forward. Some days are still incredibly hard. Some days I still feel broken. But there are also days where I feel strong and proud of the progress I have made, and I know that my father would be proud too. Losing my dad to suicide was the most painful experience of my life. It left a scar that will never fully fade. But it has also shown me the strength of the human heart. Through family, writing, and the promise of living a full life in honor of my father, I am finding my way forward.

I lost my Father to suicide in 2019. Upon receiving the phone call, my world stopped and I felt as though I would never move again. I felt the weight of loss- but also the depth of loosing someone to suicide. When someone takes their own life and you get that call, it all feels different. You begin to obsess over the details of their life wondering where “the signs were”. You start to blame yourself for not noticing. You get angry with the choice that was made, but you also understand it all at the same time. It’s confusing- and isolating as many people do not know how to hold space for you amidst this kind of grief. During that time I learned that while pain demands to be felt, so does love. I have found that the love you have underneath that certain pain is the hidden treasure. Dad’s love is much greater than the pain. My love for him was built from moments hearing his laugh, seeing his smile, and being in his presence. It’s the love I got to know because of him. He adventured constantly, and would teach me “grasshopper” lessons about our Cherokee Indian culture. He taught me to fish, gather, swim, surf, and appreciate being outside. He was connected to Mother Nature and had a unique peace about him. This world had a lot of him left to recieve. I responded to the loss with a lot of questioning. This questioning led me to change my entire idea of what my life would be at 20 years old. First, I embraced mental health support for my grief. I attended support groups, individual therapy, and conferences. Once I felt stable I began to research suicide: when I first read the statistics I became nauseated and overwhelmingly anxious. My reality was also many others. I thought of the families asking: What could have been different? Why did I not save them? Then, I thought of those suffering in the darkness. The ones teetering this edge, the ones crying out in agnony, and the ones with suicide plans. That day, I went to the Butte County Behavioral Health Hospital and asked if they were hiring for crisis management, 72 hour holds, and suicide ideation cases. They had me in for an interview where I explained this new found desire to understand and be present for those who cannot imagine living any longer. I began working for them, and soon after volunteered for the police department as well to assist on wellness checks/suicide calls and transport. I changed my career path. I chose to devote everything to serving those with depressive symptoms and suicide ideation. I became an advocate for mental health care and raised awareness in my city. Loosing my Dad taught me that suffering turns us inward at first but with time we can rise above suffering and see others through the lens of suffering. Our pain can be repurposed as compassion towards people. It’s unsettling how fast time has flown by since September 14th, 2019 and how abruptly he left. Yet, as I write this I am in awe of the impact my Dad’s death has had in 5 years. As I think of the many clients I’ve been with as they screamed, kicked, and cried out “LET ME DIE”, I think of singing to them, embracing them, and reminding them: “it won’t always be this way, the darkness never wins”. Because of my Dad, I have seen many kids walk out of the hardest pain one can know. I’ve witnessed miracles. He’s changing the world even from above.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." - Romans 8:28. Words on paper can’t describe the feeling of loss especially that of a loved one. This bible verse is for you, Taylor and Max, know that your dad is in a better place, and for anyone else reading this going through the same thing, know that you’ll be okay. On October 26th, 2023, I got a phone call, now normally I don’t receive phone calls during school hours so I didn’t think anything of it until I got 2 more phone calls. I walked out of my classroom and answered. It was like nothing I’d heard before, my aunt was screaming telling me my mom had you know… “gone to heaven” but in a more drastic tone. I had no words, and still to this day don’t; I tend not to think about it now otherwise I start to become emotional, but It’s hard. You never really know the feeling of losing someone until it happens to you. To think, you’ll never be able to talk to that person or show them your accomplishments. My mom was my hero, she battled with schizophrenia and had a very troubling upcoming. She never got remarried after my dad divorced her and never had any more kids other than me. I remember growing up her telling me how she was depressed and wanted to kill herself, mind you I was only 14 at the time and it devastated me. Her mental health got too bad for even me to handle so I moved in with my aunt. Eventually, I moved to a dorm at Grand Canyon University. I was told that she was getting better and I would occasionally see her from time to time in and out of the mental hospital. I was completely wrong and it hurt, I wish I could have done something or helped but I can’t now. I can’t even remember the last thing I said to her, that hurts, I really wish I would of done more. What’s done is done, it hurts that she’ll never see me graduate college, see me get married, or see her grandchildren but life keeps going on. I wanted to give up, I thought what’s the point of living if I have no one to show it to? It was like a nightmare but when I wake up nothing changes, I even had dreams of her talking to me and it just hurt so badly. I’ve also battled with my depression but why should I end things? I’m so close to being done, why should throw away everything that I’ve worried so hard for? I’ve just kept pushing, I think, what would my mom say? We had our moments but all she ever wanted was for me to achieve my dreams. She helped support these dreams too, whether it was acting or making videos online, she always helped. I don’t have all the answers, but I can say that surrounding yourself with friends and family is the best thing you can do for yourself it has helped out so much. Also having some kind of faith helps too, it helps knowing that they are in a better place. I also like to listen to music we used to listen to together, it helps bring me peace. Just remember these people may be gone but they are never forgotten and live on through the stories we tell and memories we have. It taught me to value what we have while we have it, most people take things for granted but you can’t. Life is so precious and fragile and to that, I’ll leave you off with a poem I left on my mom’s grave: In the garden of life, a delicate flower blooms, Its petals, kissed by the sun’s gentle beams With grace, it dances in the breeze’s embrace, A symphony of colors, a masterpiece of grace. In the twilight’s embrace, it whispers its farewell, A dance of petals, a bittersweet spell. For though it fades, its essence lingers on, A reminder of the love that forever bonds.

Losing a loved one to suicide is one of life's most painful experiences. The feelings of loss, regret, trauma, sadness, and loneliness are experienced after the death of a loved one. I was born in Dr. Congo, and my childhood passion was to be a teacher. I deeply desired to help my friends discover new methods to learn and acquire knowledge. However, I struggled with a speech impediment and could not articulate certain sounds and syllables. Also, my siblings were my only friends because I didn't have many friends. Around 2006, my brother was secretly introduced to illicit drug activity that slowly led him to severe substance addiction, and he couldn't graduate high school. In 2009, after graduating from high school, I moved to Ukraine to further my studies and completed a bachelor's and a Master of Science in construction management. In 2012, my brother back home was found dead because he overdosed on substances. He was my best friend, and losing him was devastating. Hence, 2012 is among the most challenging year ever. Not only I couldn't concentrate on school, I felt disoriented and somehow guilty. In 2016, I flew to America for my MBA. As my parents sponsored me, I started my first year as a full-time student. Because of the war in my country, my parents couldn't support my younger sister and me anymore. I didn't want to expose my younger sister to the street lifestyle, so I was obliged to change my visa status to work and take care of my younger sister, who was 13 years old and studying at a boarding school in Kentucky. Currently, the beginning of my relief was to see my younger sister graduate from high school and enroll for her bachelor's with FASFA. Luckily, by then, I had developed a good rapport with most of my colleagues, and my reputation preceded me. My coworkers came to me for advice, suggestions, and counsel on issues such as trouble with their children, marriage issues, or a secretive addiction. Consequently, I began realizing the need to have someone to talk to, I also started focusing my studies on counseling, psychology, and behavior analysis. Moreover, the church helped me with coping skills. Although I was far from my biological family, I found in the church people that became family to me. In August 2019, I was ordained as the Lead Pastor of Blueprint Church in Cincinnati, Ohio. In a way, I had accomplished my childhood dream of becoming a teacher. It was another mind-blowing experience to realize that, as a pastor, most issues people deal with are more psychological than spiritual. Serving as a pastor helped me admire and value the art of counseling, psychology, and behavior analysis. The church exposed me to more detailed and deep-oriented conversations with people in my community who needed someone to talk to. I found that this was what gave me a sense of purpose, passion, and fulfillment. In conclusion, my journey shed light on the struggles of life and the importance of mental health; I began focusing my studies on counseling and psychology. Now, I'm enrolled at Grand Canyon University for another master's degree in Clinical mental health and counseling.

May 21st, 2019. One day before my first suboxone appointment and two months before I found out I was pregnant with my first child. This day will always resonate with me for two reasons. On this dreadful night my father, Aaron took his own life but on the brighter side, it made me more determined to conquer all of the demons I knew I was about to encounter. Addiction and depression have embedded their roots deep within my family's history. Like most of the people around me, my father wasn't any different. Aaron didn't have an easy upbringing. His mom struggled with extreme mental illness and died when he was just a boy. His father, on the other hand, couldn't handle the reality of it and left the ugly world to rest on his shoulders to carry alone. My mother met Aaron when I was just six months old. Still carrying the distressing weight of loss, depression, PTSD from serving our country, and addiction, he took it upon himself to take me in as his own; along with his two other boys. With time my stepdad became my only dad and a partner to my mom to drown themselves deeper into drugs and abuse only to hide it for so long. By 2005 drugs had a tight grasp on both of their mortalities. Soon after, Aaron would disappear. Abandoning my mother, myself, and now his 2-year-old son for six months. Leading us to believe he had committed suicide. Backed up by haunting and threatening voicemails on our answering machine. Another sign of his deteriorating mental health. After a whirlwind of events and trauma Aaron's mental health only worsened. He tried to be a good father to my brother and me. His illnesses made it hard for him to express too much love, compassion, or attention. He was in and out of our lives but I'll never forget how I yearned to have that father-daughter relationship you see in movies or social media. He refused to get any professional help or take prescription medications. It got to the point where he was hallucinating, hearing, and seeing shadow people. Refusing to have a phone because he was scared that the magnetic waves would get him caught by these "shadow people". "I wish you had a phone. I miss you and just want to spend more time with you. I love you, see ya". Those were the last words I said to Aaron before he hung himself. I still went to my suboxone appointment on the 22nd of May. I stuck to my program and never relapsed. I went to his house to collect some belongings, including the multiple empty packaging of sleeping pills scattered across the bathroom floor. Those were the last physical items he touched. I keep them in my dresser to feel closer to him. Witnessing firsthand what mental illness and drugs can do to the mind. I used that as encouragement; to help me stay strong throughout my recovery. I've learned having positive attributions on my own life can affect the ones around me positively too. My daughter was born the following year. When I look at her, I see the future. Something my dad could be proud of giving her a deserving life of love and possibilities. By furthering my education, I know I can make that happen. I want to help others that need it the most, like Aaron. I'll always have a certain emptiness but just because someone important is gone today, doesn't mean someone or something just as important won't come tomorrow.