I lost my dad to cancer when I was seventeen, a formative time in life. He was adamant that I go to an in-state Virginia college, and he couldn't wait to take me on all my college tours as I entered my senior year. I couldn't wait to make my dad proud by getting into a good Virginia school, but he died before I toured or applied to any colleges. The loss of my dad was communal. He created several non-profits throughout his lifetime to support literacy in schools by giving away thousands of books every year, as well as providing after school enrichment activities to low income school districts. He was a baseball and softball coach to all four kids for over thirty years, a parent volunteer in schools, and provided volunteer opportunities for kids through his non-profit work. His funeral had lines out the door and people sitting in the aisles. I couldn't go anywhere without bumping into someone who was also grieving the loss of their coach, mentor, friend, and community member. Suddenly, Virginia felt very, very small. We didn't travel much when I was a kid, and when my dad died all I wanted to do was not walk into the grocery store and meet someone in tears over losing my dad. I applied to school in the North Carolina mountains where no one knew my last name. A fresh start led me to the wilderness- an opportunity I hadn't considered growing up in the suburbs. Appalachian State has a recreation department that taught us how to go backpacking, canoeing, rock climbing, and snowboarding. The weight of grief got lighter as I spent more time outside in nature in community. It introduced me to a world of jobs I had never even heard of and jobs: whitewater rafter, park ranger, parks and recreation managers, camp director, backcountry guide. At a time when I thought the world was too small, suffocated by grief- a window of opportunity appeared. I fell in love with the backcountry and became a traveler through my various jobs as a camp counselor in Pennsylvania, a backcountry backpacking guide in Utah and Colorado, a wilderness director in California, an outdoor educator in Arizona and a rock climber in Mexico. My recreation degree eventually led me to work with a wilderness therapy company with students who also lost their parents to cancer or were currently care-taking a family member with cancer. In this role, I was able to mentor other young kids in a way that I didn't have when my dad was sick. I was able to have empathy and compassion for what they were going through, and able to provide an outlet other than drugs or alcohol: hiking, camping, building fires, and exploring natural history outside. Without my dad getting sick with cancer, I wouldn't be the compassionate traveler that I am today. I wouldn't have worked with thousands of kids across the country in an outdoor setting in both preventative and reactive health care programs. I wouldn't be as grounded in nature without going through that experience. Navigating challenging outdoor experiences has given me more resilience to handle life's tragedies. Losing my dad to cancer has inspired a life long passion for healing in the outdoors.

When my dad died when I was in high school, not many adults truly checked in on me. I got a lot of "you're so strong" and "you're doing so great" because I wasn't crying in the hallway or throwing tantrums in the cafeteria. My English teacher, Ms. Clements, took me to dinner one night and asked how I was doing with the passing of my dad. She knew I was a great writer, and after listening to me share, she said: "Write. Write it all down, everything you are feeling and thinking. You may not realize it now, but this is a very important time in life, and you won't be able to remember it clearly." She gave me a book with some writing prompts about grief, but it was the last thing I wanted to do. Writing opened up the floodgates of emotions, and it was easier to avoid the intense feelings if I didn't write. She checked in on me every couple of months, nudging me toward turning to writing as a coping skill. Eventually I opened that book with prompts and got started. A few years later when I was in college, I found out that Ms. Clements had the same kind of cancer that killed my dad. Devastated that I didn't make it home in time to see her one last time before she passed away, I decided the best thing I could do to honor her memory and influence in my life was to sign up for a creative writing class. In that class, I looked back on those words that I wrote in raw grief as a teenager. Those first initial journal entries turned into my first short story that I wrote in undergrad. That short story turned into a collection of essays I wrote in undergrad that have turned into a full length book I am working on. Writing helped me process the emotions of grief that I didn't understand as a kid. It helped me find joy in remembering my dad, who also encouraged me to write. Writing helped me cope with the loss of my dad and my mentor, the two people who saw my creative writing as a strength. The two people who told me, "That could be a book," anytime I shared what I wrote. The two people who believed in my ability to become an author, a dream I had since I was a young child. I am currently pursing a masters in creative writing at Western Colorado University, where I am writing about grief, my dad, and others who I have lost. Writing helps honor the dead and conceptualize a life worth living.

Each time I put words on the page is an ode to my chatty childhood. I honor the imaginative girl who learned to translate her knack for elaborate storytelling into a written craft. As a kid, I always asked, "But why?" even if my mom had already found multiple reasons to explain. Writing and storytelling has allowed me to vehemently question the ways of the world and come up with my own solutions or at the very least, explore every complexity that goes into the question. It wasn't always the answer that mattered, but the act of questioning that was so important to me at a young age. When I write, I connect with the superpower that all children posses: curiosity. Writing allows the adult brain to indulge in all the magical "what if"s of the world. When one answer won't suffice, I have found clarity only after I write each one down and explore every potential to the end. Sometimes the best answer to my incessant questions isn't the most logical or realistic. Sometimes wisdom coming out of a unicorn's mouth is easier to hear than advice from a father. And sometimes our own life problems are easier to understand when they take the form of a character in a story. Over time, writing has helped me break down complex thoughts and feelings such as grief into simple stories of love.  I also write to honor the dead. My father passed away when I was seventeen, and I've been writing about him ever since. Early mornings at the breakfast table were filled by me recounting my wildly imaginative dreams. At the end of each story, he'd pass me a yellow legal notepad and say, "Write that down! That could be book!" I love writing because it helps me feel connected to those who have passed. For me, writing has always been a bridge between me and the deceased. After my dad died, I pursed a degree and career in outdoor education, because spending time outside was healing for my own grief. I focused on working in the backcountry with people in crisis who needed a place to heal, and kept writing to myself as a personal passion. I fell in love when I turned 25, and found the man that I wanted to marry. He was an artist and a backcountry enthusiast, so we spent many years together side by side writing and drawing. My dream to become an author started to bubble up, but I didn't pursue it seriously. He died at age 28 due to accidental drowning, likely due to a seizure from his epilepsy condition. After his passing, the only thing that made sense to do was write. I spent my grieving days writing about loss, love, community, and chronic illness. A shift happened inside of me: the only thing I could see for my future was being an author and a journalist. I started a blog and began to share my writing, then applied to grad school and was accepted for an M.F.A. in creative writing. I want to write books that educate, entertain, and help people move through the toughest losses of life. Getting a formal education in writing will provide me with the best coaching, mentorship, and skills so that I can write powerful books that help people for generations to come.