Jackanow Suicide Awareness Scholarship

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.