My grandfather, my Papa, was a retired Navy Chief reservist who served during the Vietnam War. He spent more than twenty years stationed near Willow Grove, Pennsylvania and because my family lived nearby, he was a constant presence throughout my childhood. I was his first grandchild, something he never let me forget, and from the start he made his pride in both his service and his family very clear. Some of my favorite memories with my Papa are the afternoons he took me to the aviation museum in Willow Grove. Without hesitation, he would lead me to the P-3 Orion, the aircraft he flew on during his Navy career. As the chief in charge of weaponry, he told stories about tracking Russian submarines and long missions spent protecting crews he trusted with his life. He even loved telling me how Tom Clancy once visited one of his Navy classes while researching The Hunt for Red October. Hearing those stories made his service feel real and alive. Even when I was young, I could feel how important those moments were to him. When I was seven years old, my Papa was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and dementia. That same year, my family lost my younger brother, Shane, to cancer. The overlap of those losses reshaped my childhood. My Papa was proud of his service, and as his illness progressed, he became frustrated with what he was losing. He often repeated the same stories, trying to hold onto memories that were slipping away. Despite the disease, I was the only grandchild he consistently remembered, something that made me feel both honored and responsible to stay close to him. As his health declined, his strength took on a quieter form. He could no longer fly in planes or move with the same confidence, but his identity as a Navy Chief never faded. He taught me that resilience means continuing to show pride in who you are, even when circumstances change. My Papa passed away suddenly during my freshman year of high school. On the day he died, I had a soccer game. I didn’t know how else to process the grief, so I played. That day, I scored a hat trick and dedicated the game to him, imagining his approval. My grandfather’s legacy lives on through the discipline, pride, and perseverance he instilled in me. I carry his lessons with me daily, honoring his memory by working hard, staying humble, and remembering that true strength comes from commitment, pride, and showing up for others, no matter how difficult the moment becomes.

My connection to brain cancer began with my brother, Shane. When he was just a baby, he was diagnosed with stage 4 alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare and aggressive cancer that eventually spread to his brain. Losing him at only 19 months old completely changed how I see life. It opened my eyes to how unfair childhood cancer is, and how few options exist for kids with diseases that can’t be cured. Watching my parents fight for him, and later for other families, showed me how much strength can come from love and determination. A few years later, one of my soccer teammate’s sisters was diagnosed with DIPG, another rare and incurable brain cancer. Hearing that news brought back so many emotions from Shane’s fight. My family supported theirs by delivering meals, sending gift cards, and giving holiday gifts. We also directed research funds through the Children’s Cancer Therapy Development Institute (cc-TDI) to help support brain cancer projects. Seeing another family go through something so similar reminded me why awareness and research matter so much, and why I want to keep being part of that effort. After Shane passed, my family started Shane’s Future Days, a nonprofit that raises money for pediatric cancer research and spreads awareness for rare and incurable cancers, including brain cancer. Since I was little, I’ve helped organize events, run fundraisers, and talk to people about why supporting labs like cc-TDI is so important. Each year, I host a LemonAID stand to raise money for research and share Shane’s story. What began as a small stand in our neighborhood has turned into an annual community tradition that brings people together to make a difference. I also serve on the cc-TDI Junior Board, connecting with other students who are passionate about helping kids with rare cancers. Together we share fundraising ideas, plan events, and inspire more people to get involved. Being part of this group has taught me a lot about leadership and teamwork, but also about empathy. Sometimes the best way to help is simply by showing up and caring. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue my education and stay involved in cancer advocacy. I plan to study accounting, with the goal of helping nonprofits like Shane’s Future Days and research organizations like cc-TDI grow and manage their funding effectively. I’ve seen firsthand how important financial stability is for research labs and it can mean the difference between starting a new project or having to pause one. By becoming an accountant, I hope to use my skills to support the organizations that fight for families like mine. My experiences with Shane and other families affected by brain cancer have shown me that change starts small, with one story, one event, or one act of kindness. I want to keep building on that. Shane’s memory pushes me to keep going, to help others feel less alone, and to keep fighting for a future where no child faces a cancer without a cure.