Most people have a favorite family member, and I’m no different. My Aunt has always been a constant in my life, some of my worst memories tinged with the warmth of her love. The night my mother was murdered, which also happened to be my brother's third birthday, she and my uncle took us home with them. She baked a cake and with a strength, I cannot fathom, made sure he had his birthday celebration. Strong. That’s one of the words I would absolutely use to describe my Aunt Colette. No matter what battle life has thrown at her, she has always risen to meet it with humor and a smile. She has a quiet inner strength that is admirable and something I’ve spent my life trying to emulate. Last year my Aunt was on her way home and had a head-on collision with a semi-truck, the hit was so hard that it threw the engine out of her SUV. My cousins found out via Facebook “How are the roads” group when they saw the horrific remains of the vehicle. One cousin's husband called me to tell me what happened, there was no information, and that the photos were bad. We all rushed to the familiar hospital and were told that due to COVID we couldn’t even use the waiting room, but to “prepare” ourselves. But that beautiful, strong, iron-willed woman made it through the night, and she fought like hell. She fought through surgery after surgery, internal and external injuries, a second fall in the hospital that re-broke her hip, and she made it. Then she was moved to a rehabilitation center, where once again due to COVID she was further isolated. None of us could see her, but my crafty uncle managed to get a tablet to her. Recently she just had her final surgery and was allowed to go home! This woman is the definition of strength and preservation. She doesn’t understand the word quit, and I use her as my mentor in the same skills. My future life path will take me into mortuary science and helping others with their great losses in life. This isn’t a well-traveled or easy path, but with the never-quit attitude I’ve learned from my Aunt I know, I’ll persevere. I’ve learned from her strength to never quit, if a door shuts in your face then you need to find a window and pull yourself up.

I’ve often heard life described as chapters in a novel, before and after moments marking our life. One of my earliest memories is one of those apex novel moments – It was a sunny Memorial Day in Colorado Springs, Colorado and it was also my brother's third birthday. We sat in the car watching my mother cross the road to pick up a friend for the party when my world as a four-year-old shattered. My mother was brutally run down by her ex-boyfriend after a heated agreement in the street, he revved up to hit the man she was with, and when she pushed that man out of the way the ex - enraged – ran her over again. I have often wondered, would my mind be so broken if I hadn’t sat, stunned, in the vehicle watching my mother screaming to get us kids away from the scene. The PTSD, anxiety, and depression that have shaped my life all seem to color my from this moment like red and blue lights that filled the street where my mother fought for and lost her life. Since that moment I have struggled with mental health. - Sprawled in bed as a child thinking about getting a knife from the kitchen without being caught, was my normal. I was hospitalized by the age of ten, heavily medicated, with weekly therapy sessions. When I was eleven my Gramps sent me to live with his ex-wife, my grandma, who didn’t believe in depression. It took a long time, a lot of trial and error, but I finally have figured out how to balance my mental disabilities against life. I believe it was the murder of my mother that shaped the way I now view death and aftercare. I remember being four, swinging my legs into a newly open grave, watching my brother place his teddy bear with my mother so she wouldn’t be lonely, and losing my father to grief and guilt. For a very long time, I allowed the dark cloud of depression to run my life. Becoming a mother changed my entire outlook on life, allowing me to use my grief as a guiding light instead of weight upon my back. I’ve opened myself to more professional help, meditation, yoga, and I constantly work on the rougher parts of my mind. The road of education I’ve chosen is Associate of Applied Science in Mortuary Science. When I have completed my path, I will be able to take everything I have learned along the road that led me here and help others. I have lost my mother, father, stepmother, and all my grandfathers. With such an intimate relationship with grief, I will be able to lead others through the newly darkened days of their lives. It is a passion of mine to take some of the burden of loss from those who are experiencing it for the first, or what feels like the millionth time to them. I want to share my experience and knowledge to help support and uplift my community during their hardest times.

For the majority of my life, I’ve held the title of an orphan, my mother was murdered when I was four and my father surrendered my brother and I. That one significant moment in my life was the largest and most defining circumstance of my existence, that is until July 6, 2018, at 3:11am. That morning I finally got to say my first words to the creature who had been residing inside of me for nine long months. I know it sounds so cliche, but my daughter is the greatest inspiration in my life, suddenly my life didn’t seem so big, it felt so small compared to the bright life that stared up at me with studious grey eyes. There is a beautiful Japanese legend about the Red String of Fate. It’s the story of destiny, that everything is predestined from the very moment of your birth, an imperceptible red strong connects you to those you’re destined to meet. That no matter what path you take, the string may stretch and knot, but never break - those we were meant to meet will always find a way to us. What an exquisite outlook on life. When I look at the landscape of my life I do believe that everything happens for a reason, those who are meant to be will always find a way into our heart and life. I was married once to the wrong man, he and I tried for eight long unsuccessful years to make a child. Eight years. All the doctors and testing couldn’t tell me why I wasn’t getting pregnant, I just wasn’t. Then, one day I met my current husband within months I was pregnant. It was the birth of my daughter that also became my “big bang” moment. Suddenly it wasn’t all about me, my pain, my struggle, my heartache. It was all about her, I was in awe of the human that I knitted together, and I still am even in her tyrannical toddler glory. It is because of those eyes that are always on me that I am inspired to be the best version of myself, I scour the goodwill bookshelves for self-help books - I will fix those broken cracks within myself so she won’t fall in the same holes. I will go to school and into a stable career so she will have a backyard to play and sing to the wind in. I will keep setting new goals and meeting them so she can see what it means to keep promises to yourself. The indefinable love of a mother for her daughter is my daily drive, my inspiration, and my lifeblood. After struggling for so many years to get her earthside she deserves the best version of me possible and she’ll get it because she deserves it all.

As I watch my toddler wildly divebombing the couch in a frenzy that only a toddler could accomplish I cannot help but think of her rich story that was woven into her very being within my womb. Legacy is so much more than just one standard Merriam Webster definition. It’s the beautiful wonderful things; My daughter’s blue eyes, which are the shadow of my father’s. The gap in her front teeth, just like her parents. The way I see the shadow of my younger self in the cheerful images hung around our home. It’s also the unseen things; The personality that is so similar to her father’s, The deep vein of mental illness that runs through all roads of her family history, and the undying love of pickles that have been firmly embedded in her maternal line for at least three generations. Finally, it’s also what my family has left behind for myself and my daughter. The pencil sketches in my hallway of my father and myself done by my Grandma, the silver pig in my bookcase. My father’s wallet, full of evidence of his love of me, plane tickets, and faded photographs. Myself, the only traces left behind of both my parents, stolen from this world too soon. The most beautiful traces of legacy in my home is my energetic toddler, She’s what I will leave behind in this world when I go forward to the next world. The stories and songs that I softly weave together for her will be the ones she passes onto her children, the person that I am when I am around her will define how my legacy is told and how revered it will be. She came from me, while she grew within me so did the eggs that will one day become my grandchildren. One day when I pass away it is she who will tell the story of my legacy via my funeral. With so many kinds of legacy; Monetary, Physical (Artwork, prized objects, property), Genetic, Offsprings, and Memories - It’s hard to define which is the most valuable within a life. The former three are the most important and cherished legacies within my home. I’ve found the importance of knowing your genetic legacy is something so many take for granted, a huge reason why I had genetic testing done. It’s extremely important to know what mental and health legacy your ancestors have left you- if you should be wary of cancer, alcoholism, or severe depression. How can you prepare for the inevitable if you don’t know what that is? I am technically an orphan, my mother murdered when I was four, my father abandoning me at the same time as he struggled to cope. For this reason, a family has always been extremely important to me. I wanted to leave behind a legacy of not only family but also love. Becoming a mother has been of the greatest achievements of my life, one that cannot be described to those who have not experienced it. And finally, Memories, the most sacred of legacies. I am constantly trying to bring the past alive for my daughter, sharing the memories of what shaped who I am. Not only is it our memories that craft a legacy, but who we are around those when we’re alive. I constantly strive to make myself a better and more understanding person, so my legacy when I am gone is one of loving and supporting friend, mother, and significant other. It’s hard to think about death, leaving everything and everyone you love behind. When I think of what I will be leaving behind I hope for so many things. My funeral will be full of people who respected and loved me, that my body will go to science and help solve murders, a nod to my mother’s tragedy. One day my daughter will sing the songs and rhymes I so loving spoke to her, to her own children. But above all and most importantly, I hope to leave behind a legacy of love. For those in my life to know they were thoroughly loved and never to doubt it, a love so large that it seeps into others and bleeds like a beautiful watercolor throughout their life. When all other things disappear, you will always remember those who surrounded you with love when you needed it the most.

The summer before kindergarten was full of devasting changes, my brother and I saw our mother murdered after she took out a restraining order to protect herself and us. Shortly after we entered our grandfathers care and I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder at only five years old, by the time I was an adult this would blossom into Anxiety, Depression, and PTSD. It was also this summer when my fascination with death and after death care was born. When we went to the funeral home to bury my mother there were two detectives met us to show their respect and to gift my brother and me some stuffed animals in an attempt to ease our pain on that day. Since that summer I’ve lost many loved ones along the path called life - Some were family, some were friends, and all are still held close to my heart and dearly missed. For those of us experiencing mental illness, the loss of someone we love can darken even the darkest places. There were a few times I almost didn’t make it out the other side of those dark tunnels alive. It’s this metamorphism forced by coming from a life filled with death and destruction that has made me into the strong woman I am today. I want to use the empathy and understanding I’ve learned to try to make an impact on the worst days of other people’s lives. The opportunity to bring healing and comfort to those left behind by not only planning a celebration of life but also with the compassionate human conversation with sensitivity and respect is what really brings me to this field of study.

Seventeen years ago I graduated from High School in the midst of chaos and that fall I entered college amongst fighting for the murderer of my mother to remain imprisoned in jail, maintain a full-time job, and go to school full time. Since the murder of my mother in 1990, I was raised by my Grandfather who believed hard work was the sole answer for all of life's problems, in his world, there's no such thing as depression, anxiety, or the PTSD I was suffering. Then the man who I had watched murder my mother was released from jail and I had a massive mental breakdown making the only choices I felt I could make at the time. I left college, I left the state, I ran away to California, and married a man whose brother was a sheriff. While in survivor mode my depression and anxiety blossomed and my husband took full advantage, It wasn't long until he started abusing me. I had grown so used to hiding inside myself that it took me six very long years of abuse, adultery, and alcoholism for me to wake up and walk away from my marriage. It wasn't worth taking my life over, so I turned to therapy. It was there that I learned I wasn't broken beyond repair, I was just sick. With a lot of help, a little bit of luck, and hard work I've discovered that everyone has bad days - It's how you handle those bad days that make all the difference. Now at 35, I’m engaged to a wonderfully kind man, the mother to an energetic toddler, and I'm ready to finish what I started. I’m a survivor who will not quit! The world my grandparents lived and raised me in is quickly fading, I'm doing my part to build the new world starting with my home. In this house, we talk about big feelings! Medication isn't the end of the world, but a helping hand and sometimes we all just need a sympathetic ear to listen or a hand to hold. I am excited for the second opportunity to go back to school, the next four years of my life are going to be filled with classes, studying, and hustle. I am absolutely thrilled! I definitely will be embracing all the new things that will now be entering my life. By growing and learning, I will be showing my daughter through example that hard work and dedication do pay off and with love and support, anything is possible.

I was born two months after my mothers’ high school graduation. In the early days of their marriage, my mother worked teaching early childhood education while my father worked as a heavy machinery operator and they were able to support their little family without a college education. A few years later, shortly after my brother was born, they separated and went their own ways, my father going to Florida to find construction work. My mother wanted to move back home to Pennsylvania and start her college career to take the next step in our lives. She had gone to financial services to get help with the cost of living so she could continue her need for education. Neither of my parents made it to college, my mother was murdered shortly after letting my father know she was planning on leaving, tragically my father never recovered. It was this lack of education, the inability to support and raise two children on his own, that led to me being raised by grandparents. My grandfather was a jack of all trades. Dabbling in feed stores, property/life insurance salesman, landscaper, and a car salesman. He was gone from morning to just before dinner every Monday through Saturday in order to support us. He missed t-ball games, boy scout / girl scout events, and anything else during business hours. My step-grandmother was a substitute teacher who really tried to make sure as a child that I understood what education meant. That with a college education there will be more opportunities, and less struggle to find shelter and put food on the table. She did manage to instill a love of reading that never left, which as I’ve grown older has blossomed into a love of learning. Seventeen years ago I graduated from High School in the midst of chaos. That fall I entered college amongst fighting for the murderer of my mother to remain imprisoned in jail, maintain a full-time job, and go to school full time. In my youth, even though it had been lectured to me from childhood, I had no idea that the struggle I was going through would be the helping hand I would need so badly when I moved into the next stage of my life. Since I left college at 19, I have struggled through the years with jobs that did not require an education. All of which left me mentally unstimulated and unable to support myself in a manner I would have been able to if I had just completed my work at school. Now at 35, I’m a survivor of domestic abuse and the mother to an energetic toddler. I’m a survivor who will not quit! I do not want to follow in my parents’ footsteps. The lack of a college education has shaded the last sixteen years of my life with struggle, the inability to get ahead and support my child. The world my grandparents lived and raised me in is quickly fading. Whereas today, a college degree is a necessity to make sure my daughter is raised without struggling to put food on the table. I am excited for the second opportunity to go back to school for a multitude of reasons. The next four years of my life are going to be filled with classes, studying, and hustle. I am absolutely thrilled! I love learning and reading. I definitely will be embracing all the new things that will now be entering my life. By growing and learning I will be showing my daughter through example that hard work and dedication do pay off. Not only am I going to be able to lead my daughter by example, when I complete the hard work I get to move into a field I am passionate about. I get to be the example of studiousness as she enters kindergarten at about the same time I finish my degree. With a college education, I can give my daughter the childhood she deserves, a home with a yard instead of living on top of each other in a tiny mobile park. I can ensure she can go to all the museums and historical locations around the country, breathing life into the past as it was done for me. One of my earliest memories is of walking into a funeral home to bury my mother. The police detectives met us in the foyer, giving my 2 year old brother and I stuffed animals in an attempt to soften the blow of the day. Followed by watching my brother putting his stuffed bear in the casket with our mother so she wouldn’t be lonely. Moving into the mortician and funeral director field of education I will be able to take some of the memories of my childhood and use that to comfort others. Since those early memories, I have lost my father very suddenly to cancer and both of my grandfathers. I can ensure that others who have gone through my life experiences will be treated with nothing but dignity, respect, and understanding. What’s made me so passionate about going back to school and getting my degree other than the obvious immediate benefits to my own life? I recently read an article that parents' education levels affect children’s likelihood to attend college and like almost all parents I want more for my daughter. I do not want her to have to struggle like my parents or their parents. I want to make myself the first to graduate college in 2 generations, an accomplishment I can give to myself and for my mother who was unable to do so. All of this is the reason I am so eager to learn the process of being a mortician and funeral director from start to finish. So I can give people the respect they deserve in their final days on this earth. Because after all, we all deserve love and respect.

Seventeen years ago I graduated from High School in the midst of chaos. That fall I entered college amongst fighting for the murderer of my mother to remain imprisoned in jail, maintain a full-time job, and go to school full time. In my youth, even though it had been lectured to me from childhood, I had no idea that the struggle I was going through would be the helping hand I would need so badly when I moved into the next stage of my life. I left college amid a massive manic depressive episode that I did not know nor understand how to deal with. Since I left college at 19, I have struggled through the years with jobs that did not require an education. All of which left me mentally unstimulated and unable to support myself in a manner I would have been able to if I had just completed my work at school. Now at 35, I’m a survivor of domestic abuse and the mother to an energetic toddler. I’m a survivor who will not quit! I do not want to follow in my parents’ footsteps. The lack of a college education has shaded the last sixteen years of my life with struggle, the inability to get ahead and support my child. The world my grandparents lived and raised me in is quickly fading. Whereas today, a college degree is a necessity to make sure my daughter is raised without struggling to put food on the table. I am excited for the second opportunity to go back to school for a multitude of reasons. The next four years of my life are going to be filled with classes, studying, and hustle. I am absolutely thrilled! I love learning and reading. I definitely will be embracing all the new things that will now be entering my life. By growing and learning I will be showing my daughter through example that hard work and dedication do pay off. Not only am I going to be able to lead my daughter by example, when I complete the hard work I get to move into a field I am passionate about. I get to be the example of studiousness as she enters kindergarten at about the same time I finish my degree. With a college education, I can give my daughter the childhood she deserves, a home with a yard instead of living on top of each other in a tiny mobile park. I can ensure she can go to all the museums and historical locations around the country, breathing life into the past as it was done for me. One of my earliest memories is of walking into a funeral home to bury my mother. The police detectives met us in the foyer, giving my 2 year old brother and I stuffed animals in an attempt to soften the blow of the day. Followed by watching my brother putting his stuffed bear in the casket with our mother so she wouldn’t be lonely. Moving into the mortician and funeral director field of education I will be able to take some of the memories of my childhood and use that to comfort others. Since those early memories, I have lost my father very suddenly to cancer and both of my grandfathers. I can ensure that others who have gone through my life experiences will be treated with nothing but dignity, respect, and understanding. What’s made me so passionate about going back to school and getting my degree other than the obvious immediate benefits to my own life? I recently read an article that parents' education levels affect children’s likelihood to attend college and like almost all parents I want more for my daughter. I do not want her to have to struggle like my parents or their parents. I want to make myself the first to graduate college in 2 generations, an accomplishment I can give to myself and for my mother who was unable to do so. All of this is the reason I am so eager to learn the process of being a mortician and funeral director from start to finish. So I can give people the respect they deserve in their final days on this earth. Because after all, we all deserve love and respect.

I was born two months after my mothers’ high school graduation. In the early days of their marriage, my mother worked teaching early childhood education while my father worked as a heavy machinery operator and they were able to support their little family without a college education. A few years later, shortly after my brother was born, they separated and went their own ways, my father going to Florida to find construction work. My mother wanted to move back home to Pennsylvania and start her college career to take the next step in our lives. She had gone to financial services to get help with the cost of living so she could continue her need for education. Neither of my parents made it to college, my mother was murdered shortly after letting my father know she was planning on leaving, tragically my father never recovered. It was this lack of education, the inability to support and raise two children on his own, that led to me being raised by grandparents. My grandfather was a jack of all trades. Dabbling in feed stores, property/life insurance salesman, landscaper, and a car salesman. He was gone from morning to just before dinner every Monday through Saturday in order to support us. He missed t-ball games, boy scout / girl scout events, and anything else during business hours. My step-grandmother was a substitute teacher who really tried to make sure as a child that I understood what education meant. That with a college education there will be more opportunities, and less struggle to find shelter and put food on the table. She did manage to instill a love of reading that never left, which as I’ve grown older has blossomed into a love of learning. Seventeen years ago I graduated from High School in the midst of chaos. That fall I entered college amongst fighting for the murderer of my mother to remain imprisoned in jail, maintain a full-time job, and go to school full time. In my youth, even though it had been lectured to me from childhood, I had no idea that the struggle I was going through would be the helping hand I would need so badly when I moved into the next stage of my life. Since I left college at 19, I have struggled through the years with jobs that did not require an education. All of which left me mentally unstimulated and unable to support myself in a manner I would have been able to if I had just completed my work at school. Now at 35, I’m a survivor of domestic abuse and the mother to an energetic toddler. I’m a survivor who will not quit! I do not want to follow in my parents’ footsteps. The lack of a college education has shaded the last sixteen years of my life with struggle, the inability to get ahead and support my child. The world my grandparents lived and raised me in is quickly fading. Whereas today, a college degree is a necessity to make sure my daughter is raised without struggling to put food on the table. I am excited for the second opportunity to go back to school for a multitude of reasons. The next four years of my life are going to be filled with classes, studying, and hustle. I am absolutely thrilled! I love learning and reading. I definitely will be embracing all the new things that will now be entering my life. By growing and learning I will be showing my daughter through example that hard work and dedication do pay off. Not only am I going to be able to lead my daughter by example, when I complete the hard work I get to move into a field I am passionate about. I get to be the example of studiousness as she enters kindergarten at about the same time I finish my degree. With a college education, I can give my daughter the childhood she deserves, a home with a yard instead of living on top of each other in a tiny mobile park. I can ensure she can go to all the museums and historical locations around the country, breathing life into the past as it was done for me. One of my earliest memories is of walking into a funeral home to bury my mother. The police detectives met us in the foyer, giving my 2 year old brother and I stuffed animals in an attempt to soften the blow of the day. Followed by watching my brother putting his stuffed bear in the casket with our mother so she wouldn’t be lonely. Moving into the mortician and funeral director field of education I will be able to take some of the memories of my childhood and use that to comfort others. Since those early memories, I have lost my father very suddenly to cancer and both of my grandfathers. I can ensure that others who have gone through my life experiences will be treated with nothing but dignity, respect, and understanding. What’s made me so passionate about going back to school and getting my degree other than the obvious immediate benefits to my own life? I recently read an article that parents' education levels affect children’s likelihood to attend college and like almost all parents I want more for my daughter. I do not want her to have to struggle like my parents or their parents. I want to make myself the first to graduate college in 2 generations, an accomplishment I can give to myself and for my mother who was unable to do so. All of this is the reason I am so eager to learn the process of being a mortician and funeral director from start to finish. So I can give people the respect they deserve in their final days on this earth. Because after all, we all deserve love and respect.