On December 24, 2013, my dad was ripped away from me. It was Christmas Eve, and I was only nine years old. His life was stolen away, leaving me betrayed and alone. The world was empty, barren of life. There were only the thoughts in my head to keep me company. Before he died my dad called me his piano princess for obvious reasons. That always made my sister mad because she also played piano, and she was a great deal better than me, as I was seven. He coached my soccer team as well, and at that, I excelled. At least I did when he was alive. He served his country as an army ranger. My dad was a hero. He was undoubtedly my hero. Full Circle Grief Center brought life back to my world through art therapy. I kept working on art at home. I found sanctuary in painting, drawing, and any other forms of fine arts. Starting freshman year of high school, I tried to register for fine arts classes. My schedule was full every year because of IB, the highest level of education offered in high school, complete with the most rigorous courses and challenging testing. It destroyed me, but I decided that it wouldn’t define me. I would still work hard and follow the curriculum of the art class, even if it wasn’t formally approved or graded. I wanted to become an art therapist, and I would work as hard as I possibly could to achieve this dream. I still have this dream, and I am still working as hard as possible to achieve this. I’m doing all of this because when I was nine years old, my life was forever changed when my dad was stolen from me due to liver cancer.

On December 24, 2013, my dad was ripped away from me. It was Christmas Eve, and I was only nine years old. His life was stolen away, leaving me betrayed and alone. The world was empty, barren of life. There were only the thoughts in my head to keep me company. Before he died my dad called me his piano princess for obvious reasons. That always made my sister mad because she also played piano, and she was a great deal better than me, as I was seven. He coached my soccer team as well, and at that, I excelled. At least I did when he was alive. He served his country as an army ranger. My dad was a hero. He was undoubtedly my hero. Full Circle Grief Center brought life back to my world through art therapy. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my mother’s response to the trauma we faced, would forever shape me and my interests. In art therapy, we would paint, collage, and we even made plates once. At the time, I hated it. It was just a bunch of people in a room crying over their trauma and painting. It was not ideal. I begged my mom to let me quit, but she made me complete the eight-week program. After I left art therapy, I went into one-on-one general therapy. Surprisingly, I kept working on art at home. I found sanctuary in painting, drawing, and any other forms of fine arts. Dare I say, that I actually started getting pretty good. People were starting to notice. I had people coming up to me and asking if I was in art, simply due to the doodling in the corner of my paper. In middle school, my mom tried to convince me to join art just like the rest of them had. Starting freshman year of high school, I tried to register for fine arts classes in my school. Every single time they didn’t have enough space until senior year. Senior year, I was accepted into fine arts, finally. I worked hard all summer to get a head start. I decided that I would reclaim my trauma in my own way and work hard to become an art therapist myself. Alas, we got our senior schedules and… no art. My schedule is full because I’m taking all International Baccalaureate classes. IB is the highest level of education offered in high school, complete with the most rigorous courses and challenging testing. I ended up having to take a different class instead due to this. Nevertheless, I persevered. It destroyed me, but I decided that it wouldn’t define me. I would still work hard and follow the curriculum of the art class, even if it wasn’t formally approved or graded. I wanted to become an art therapist, and I would work as hard as I possibly could to achieve this dream. I still have this dream, and I am still working as hard as possible to achieve this. I’m doing all of this because when I was nine years old, my life was forever changed when my dad was stolen from me due to liver cancer.

On December 24, 2013, my dad was ripped away from me. It was Christmas Eve, and I was only nine years old. His life was stolen away, leaving me betrayed and alone. The world was empty, barren of life. There were only the thoughts in my head to keep me company. Before he died my dad called me his piano princess for obvious reasons. That always made my sister mad because she also played piano, and she was a great deal better than me, as I was seven. He coached my soccer team as well, and at that, I excelled. At least I did when he was alive. He served his country as an army ranger. My dad was a hero. He was undoubtedly my hero. Full Circle Grief Center brought life back to my world through art therapy. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my mother’s response to the trauma we faced, would forever shape me and my interests. In art therapy, we would paint, collage, and we even made plates once. At the time, I hated it. It was just a bunch of people in a room crying over their trauma and painting. It was not ideal. I begged my mom to let me quit, but she made me complete the eight-week program. After I left art therapy, I went into one-on-one general therapy. Surprisingly, I kept working on art at home. I found sanctuary in painting, drawing, and any other forms of fine arts. Dare I say, that I actually started getting pretty good. People were starting to notice. I had people coming up to me and asking if I was in art, simply due to the doodling in the corner of my paper. In middle school, my mom tried to convince me to join art just like the rest of them had. Starting freshman year of high school, I tried to register for fine arts classes in my school. Every single time they didn’t have enough space until senior year. Senior year, I was accepted into fine arts, finally. I worked hard all summer to get a head start. I decided that I would reclaim my trauma in my own way and work hard to become an art therapist myself. Alas, we got our senior schedules and… no art. My schedule is full because I’m taking all International Baccalaureate classes. IB is the highest level of education offered in high school, complete with the most rigorous courses and challenging testing. I ended up having to take a different class instead due to this. Nevertheless, I persevered. It destroyed me, but I decided that it wouldn’t define me. I would still work hard and follow the curriculum of the art class, even if it wasn’t formally approved or graded. I wanted to become an art therapist, and I would work as hard as I possibly could to achieve this dream. I still have this dream, and I am still working as hard as possible to achieve this. I’m doing all of this because when I was nine years old, my life was forever changed when my dad was stolen from me due to liver cancer.

On December 24, 2013, my dad was stolen from me. It was Christmas Eve, and I was only nine years old. His life was gone away, leaving me betrayed and alone. The world was empty, barren. There were only the thoughts in my head to keep me company. Before he died my dad called me his piano princess for obvious reasons. That always made my sister mad because she also played piano, and she was a great deal better than me, as I was seven. He coached my soccer team as well, and at that, I excelled. At least I did when he was alive. He served his country as an army ranger. My dad was a hero. He was undoubtedly my hero. Full Circle Grief Center brought life back to my world through art therapy. At the time, I hated it. I begged my mom to let me quit, but she made me complete the eight-week program. Surprisingly, I found sanctuary in painting, drawing, and any other forms of fine arts. Starting freshman year of high school, I tried to register for art classes at school. It never worked. My schedule is full because of IB which is the highest level of education in high school, complete with the most rigorous courses. It destroyed me, but I decided that it wouldn’t define me. I would still work hard and follow the art class, even if it wasn’t formally. I wanted to become an art therapist, and I would work as hard as possible to achieve this dream. I still have this dream, and I am still working hard to achieve this. I’m doing all of this because when I was nine years old, my life was forever changed when my dad was stolen from me due to cancer.

On December 24, 2013, my dad was ripped away from me. It was Christmas Eve, and I was only nine years old. His life was stolen away, leaving me betrayed and alone. The world was empty, barren of life. There were only the thoughts in my head to keep me company. Before he died my dad called me his piano princess for obvious reasons. That always made my sister mad because she also played piano, and she was a great deal better than me, as I was seven. He coached my soccer team as well, and at that, I excelled. At least I did when he was alive. He served his country as an army ranger. My dad was a hero. He was undoubtedly my hero. Full Circle Grief Center brought life back to my world through art therapy. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my mother’s response to the trauma we faced, would forever shape me and my interests. In art therapy, we would paint, collage, and we even made plates once. At the time, I hated it. It was just a bunch of people in a room crying over their trauma and painting. It was not ideal. I begged my mom to let me quit, but she made me complete the eight-week program. After I left art therapy, I went into one-on-one general therapy. Surprisingly, I kept working on art at home. I found sanctuary in painting, drawing, and any other forms of fine arts. Dare I say, that I actually started getting pretty good. People were starting to notice. I had people coming up to me and asking if I was in art, simply due to the doodling in the corner of my paper. In middle school, my mom tried to convince me to join art just like the rest of them had. Starting freshman year of high school, I tried to register for fine arts classes in my school. Every single time they didn’t have enough space until senior year. Senior year, I was accepted into fine arts, finally. I worked hard all summer to get a head start. I decided that I would reclaim my trauma in my own way and work hard to become an art therapist myself. Alas, we got our senior schedules and… no art. My schedule is full because I’m taking all International Baccalaureate classes. IB is the highest level of education offered in high school, complete with the most rigorous courses and challenging testing. I ended up having to take a different class instead due to this. Nevertheless, I persevered. It destroyed me, but I decided that it wouldn’t define me. I would still work hard and follow the curriculum of the art class, even if it wasn’t formally approved or graded. I wanted to become an art therapist, and I would work as hard as I possibly could to achieve this dream. I still have this dream, and I am still working as hard as possible to achieve this. I’m doing all of this because when I was nine years old, my life was forever changed when my dad was stolen from me due to liver cancer.