Silence enveloped us as we stepped through the doors. It had been a month since we left, and returning home felt both familiar and alien. Remnants of his belongings lay scattered about, silent witnesses to a presence now confined to memory. The warmth of our home had dissipated, replaced by a chilling void that seemed to seep into every corner. Cold air wrapped itself around me as I ascended the stairs toward his room. Opening the door, I was met with emptiness, a stark testament to his absence. The cancer that began in his colon had spread relentlessly, and the doctors had given us the solemn prognosis of his limited time left. His room, now vacant, stood as a poignant reminder that his once vibrant presence was now just a memory. Losing my father has profoundly shaped me, both emotionally and spiritually. It has been a journey marked by deep sorrow and resilience. His absence has left an indelible mark on my life, challenging my sense of security and forcing me to confront mortality at a young age. The grief has been a heavy burden, but it has also fueled my determination to honor his memory and live with purpose. In addition to the emotional challenges, our family faced practical struggles in coping with his illness and subsequent passing. Navigating through the grief while supporting my family required strength and maturity beyond my years. It taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of cherishing every moment with loved ones. Through this journey, I have grappled with the concept of "my truth" versus God's truth as illuminated in the Bible. In contemporary culture, "my truth" often refers to personal beliefs, perspectives, and experiences that shape an individual's worldview and sense of reality. These subjective truths can vary widely among individuals and are influenced by personal experiences, cultural backgrounds, and societal norms. From a biblical standpoint, God's truth, as revealed in the Scriptures, stands as an absolute standard of reality and morality. Psalm 119:160 declares, "The sum of your word is truth, and every one of your righteous rules endures forever." Here, the psalmist affirms that God's Word is the ultimate source of truth, enduring across time and circumstances. Jesus himself declared in John 14:6, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." This statement underscores that truth, as embodied in Christ, is not merely a subjective experience but a divine reality that transcends human understanding. The apostle Paul further exhorts in Romans 12:2, "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." This verse highlights the transformative power of aligning one's beliefs and worldview with God's truth, as revealed through Scripture. In contrast, "my truth" can sometimes lead to relativism, where personal feelings and experiences dictate moral and spiritual beliefs, potentially diverging from God's truth. Proverbs 14:12 warns, "There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death." This cautionary verse reminds us of the peril of relying solely on subjective truths that may lead us away from God's intended path. Ultimately, grappling with the difference between "my truth" and God's truth involves a journey of discernment and alignment with biblical principles. It requires humility to seek God's wisdom and guidance, allowing His truth to shape our beliefs, decisions, and actions. Through this process, we find solace amidst the profound challenges and losses of life.

Silence enveloped us as we stepped through the doors. It had been a month since we left, and returning home felt both familiar and alien. Remnants of his belongings lay scattered about, silent witnesses to a presence now confined to memory. The warmth of our home had dissipated, replaced by a chilling void that seemed to seep into every corner. Cold air wrapped itself around me as I ascended the stairs toward his room. Opening the door, I was met with emptiness, a stark testament to his absence. The cancer that began in his colon had spread relentlessly, and the doctors had given us the solemn prognosis of his limited time left. His room, now vacant, stood as a poignant reminder that his once vibrant presence was now just a memory. Losing my father has profoundly shaped me, both emotionally and spiritually. It has been a journey marked by deep sorrow and resilience. His absence has left an indelible mark on my life, challenging my sense of security and forcing me to confront mortality at a young age. The grief has been a heavy burden, but it has also fueled my determination to honor his memory and live with purpose. In addition to the emotional challenges, our family faced practical struggles in coping with his illness and subsequent passing. Navigating through the grief while supporting my family required strength and maturity beyond my years. It taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of cherishing every moment with loved ones. Throughout this journey, my faith has been a steadfast source of strength and comfort. Trusting in God's plan has helped me find meaning in the midst of pain and uncertainty. It has provided a foundation of hope and resilience, guiding me through the darkest moments and inspiring me to embrace each day with gratitude and purpose. Ultimately, my journey has taught me that adversity can be a catalyst for growth and transformation. By embracing the values instilled in me through my father's legacy and leaning on my faith, I am determined to make a positive impact in my community and beyond. I believe that every challenge presents an opportunity for learning and personal development, and I am committed to using my experiences to uplift and empower others. In conclusion, the loss of my father has been a profound and transformative experience. It has tested my resilience, deepened my empathy, and strengthened my commitment to living a purposeful life. Through my advocacy efforts and the guiding presence of God, I strive to honor his memory and create a legacy of resilience, compassion, and hope. As I continue on my journey, I am grateful for the lessons learned and the opportunities to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others.

Silence enveloped us as we stepped through the doors. It had been a month since we left, and returning home felt both familiar and alien. Remnants of his belongings lay scattered about, silent witnesses to a presence now confined to memory. The warmth of our home had dissipated, replaced by a chilling void that seemed to seep into every corner. Cold air wrapped itself around me as I ascended the stairs toward his room. Opening the door, I was met with emptiness, a stark testament to his absence. The cancer that began in his colon had spread relentlessly, and the doctors had given us the solemn prognosis of his limited time left. His room, now vacant, stood as a poignant reminder that his once vibrant presence was now just a memory. Losing my father has profoundly shaped me, both emotionally and spiritually. It has been a journey marked by deep sorrow and resilience. His absence has left an indelible mark on my life, challenging my sense of security and forcing me to confront mortality at a young age. The grief has been a heavy burden, but it has also fueled my determination to honor his memory and live with purpose. In addition to the emotional challenges, our family faced practical struggles in coping with his illness and subsequent passing. Navigating through the grief while supporting my family required strength and maturity beyond my years. It taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of cherishing every moment with loved ones. Lacrosse has been my anchor throughout this journey. It provided an outlet for my emotions, a place where I could channel my grief into determination and resilience on the field. The discipline and teamwork inherent in lacrosse mirrored the lessons I learned in life—perseverance, leadership, and unity in adversity. Playing lacrosse not only enhanced my physical strength but also nurtured my mental resilience, helping me cope with the challenges I faced off the field. Looking forward, I am committed to paying forward the lessons I have learned through my experiences. I aspire to create triumph out of tragedy by advocating for mental health awareness and supporting others facing similar challenges. Through sharing my story and supporting initiatives that promote emotional well-being, I aim to inspire resilience and hope in others who are navigating their own journeys of loss and grief. Ultimately, my journey has taught me that adversity can be a catalyst for growth and transformation. By embracing the values instilled in me through lacrosse and my father's legacy, I am determined to make a positive impact in my community and beyond. I believe that every challenge presents an opportunity for learning and personal development, and I am committed to using my experiences to uplift and empower others. In conclusion, the loss of my father has been a profound and transformative experience. It has tested my resilience, deepened my empathy, and strengthened my commitment to living a purposeful life. Through lacrosse and my advocacy efforts, I strive to honor his memory and create a legacy of resilience, compassion, and hope. As I continue on my journey, I am grateful for the lessons learned and the opportunities to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others.

Silence pierced through the space as we entered the doors. It had been a month since we left and being home made me feel out of place. Remnants of his belongings scrambled in this house remained. With him gone, I didn’t feel the warmth of my home. Instead, I felt the cold air as it trickled into space. Wrapping itself around me as I made my way up the stairs toward his room. Opening the door to find it completely empty. He was no longer here, the cancer that formed in his colon had spread and the doctors informed us of the few months till his life would come to an end. This was the end for him and seeing this was a reminder that his presence that once lived in this house is nothing but a memory. The loss of my father was indescribable and heartbreaking. But the most sadistic part of this story is that I never truly knew who he was. He was my father, just my father and that was all. A man of few spoken words yet a man of many actions. And I guess this is what makes my story and me unique. Growing up, my father was everything, he was my friend, my accomplice, and role model. Yet he yearned from since he was a boy for the love and affection of his father and the rest of his broken family. So he left. But it didn’t last long because he had returned home to Minnesota, to his wife, his 4 daughters, and his son. And As I matured this continued to strum my mind, and the anger lingered for some time. But this changed when he got sick and this was when I realized that the resentment I felt was unspoken, never shared, never shown. I always had a disguise to hide my anger I bottled inside. But the truth was, I forgave him. I had already forgiven him but I was afraid of the hurt. Of feeling the same pain I left before he returned. So I sat one night by his side and shared the pain that I held in for some time. Recognizing that his absence had made me who I am, someone who is caring, kind, and compassionate. And although my relationship with my father wasn't perfect, although he wasn't perfect. He supported me through the good and bad times. He loved me wholeheartedly and taught me the most important component in life which is persistence. One things I use every Even though he won't be here physically to watch me achieve my dreams of becoming a lawyer, I know he's watching from above.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest. My eyes began to burn as I struggled to hold in the hurt. Slowly, tears began to stream down my face. Tears? I was crying. Why was I crying? I was happy, I told myself. I had a wonderful day, so why am I sitting here crying? Quickly, I rushed to the bathroom. Shutting the door and twisting the lock. I crouched on the floor, leaning against the cabinets, and continued to cry. Memories of moments of joy and happiness brushed through my mind. Sadness, hatred, and regret flooded my thoughts. But soon, it was over. The tears stopped, and my body was still. Silence fell. Slowly, I stood up, wiping away the tears, and walked away. Leaving the bathroom as it was, as if nothing happened. This didn’t happen once, but several times, I would find myself in tears, crouched on the bathroom floor or lying in my bed. Drenched in the sorrows of my sadness. Lost in this mind maze, constantly trying to find a way out. I was too afraid to share my struggle with my mother and the rest of the family. Keeping the turmoil hidden inside, bottled up. But that failed when I arrived home after a long day of school, lacrosse, and work. Breaking down onto the living room floor in tears, crying. I was alone until my mom returned home from work and found me. After a long conversation, it was finalized by my mom that I would begin seeing a therapist. She wanted to find a solution for me to grieve the death of my father, the loss of my self-esteem, and the depression that had consumed my life. Now, I celebrate the importance of maintaining Mental. Health. And why my belief in Mental Health is essential. Not only to me but to several millions of individuals across the globe. Through this story, I shared. My Mental Health over the past 2 years deteriorated. I found myself in constant doubt of my existence and of my worth. I lost the value and focus of Health and let myself fall. Which affected my growth, my relationships, and my output in life. I lost my identity. Learning that Mental Health was the factor that played a massive role in my life. It changes us, changes who we are, but mainly changes the way we see life. And the way I maintain a healthy relationship with my Mental Health is by doing the things that bring me joy. Taking care of yourself is one of the most important things. And during the days when I find myself feeling at my lowest, I read. Reading brings me joy and clarity. It eases my mind and helps distract me, but distracting yourself isn’t always the best option. Which is why I journal, especially when I can’t speak with my therapist. I take the time to express the emotions that are surging through me and attempt to address the situations that make me feel depressed, angry, or sad. One of my favorite things to do is to dance. I put on some music, preferably Rocketeer by Adam Levine and dance. There are many ways to maintain Mental Health; you just have to find ways that work for you like I did. Once you figure that out, it leads to more development, growth, and positivity. And although we’ll still have some days where we feel out of place, we just need to remind ourselves of the things that bring us joy.

Growing up I wasn't surrounded by athletes or given the opportunity to join sports. It was already a hassle for my family since I had 4 siblings. But when I got to the age of 12, my older sister had begun her high school career playing lacrosse. It was foreign to me but also intriguing to watch her play. And thanks to her interest, it caught my attention. Lacrosse had become my life. Every day since than I spent countless hours on the field, training, and training. Repeating the same drill over and over until it was concretely embedded into my body. Bringing us to now, a senior graduate continuing her career as a student-athlete at Liberty University playing d1 lacrosse. Never in a million years could I have imagined to have gotten this far. Lacrosse has not just physically strengthened me but mentally and emotionally provided the guidance needed at my lowest moments in life. A few years ago, back in 2019, my father was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. And during those times, it wasn't easy for me or the rest of my family as the pandemic hit. Life completely changed, and the future I imagined for myself became harder and harder to reach. Especially since I was struggling to cope with my father's diagnosis. But through lacrosse, I found a place of comfort, pure joy, and happiness away from the sadness that often occupied my mind. When I was out on the field, I felt free; from the worries, the stress, and the fear of my father's health. Playing a sport like Lacrosse has immensely changed my mindset, and my perception of the world as well as me. In the past, I've struggled with my mental health. Often finding myself in a slump of emotions which caused my self-esteem to deteriorate. But with the support of a sport, like lacrosse, I was able to bounce back. I found myself and also recreated a new stronger version of myself. The physicality and mental strength that was poured every day gave me the passion and loved to live life more happily than I did before. And with that, it projected on the field when I participated in tournaments with my team. Lacrosse has impacted my life greatly, reminding me of the beauty of life even when I find myself at my lowest. Even when those moments bring pain and tears, lacrosse has always and will always be my rock, reminding me of the hopes and kindness life brings.

Everywhere I look, everywhere I go, every place and thing in my life reminds me of him. And the reality is that my home will never be the same without his constant presence that used to roam this house. Two years ago, my father was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. It was a shock to the rest of my family and me. I remember the day I learned of the news of his illness. It was a Friday afternoon, my mother picked me up from school, and we were on our way home. I didn't say much, but something seemed off about her. She looked distressed and agitated. Finally, we stop at the intersection, and she speaks. She proceeded to inform me about my father, the schedule, and most of all, remind me, " To make every moment count," she said. And as time passed, the months grew short. My father's health was slowly improving, and the hopes of his tumor-shrinking were likely to happen after his last appointment. But with the constant meds and pain, he grew tired. Often, he was exhausted and in his room, isolated from the rest of us, his family. At some point, later on, he stopped. He missed his appointments and calls with his doctor and gave up on chemotherapy. Soon what we hoped would not happen became true. His tumor has enlarged, and he would only have a few months left with us after a year. So we tried to spend every waking moment with my father as he grew weaker. I would talk to him, here and there, about school and life. Share about my troubles and the shows I was currently binging. Sometimes even read to him at night. A few days later, I sat in the room and watched my father draw his last breath. Months later, I stood and watched as his casket was buried. Fast forward, here I am at a new school, surrounded by new people every day, and preparing for the end of high school and the new beginnings of college. And looking back, the most important thing I learned from this experience was that every second counts. Although I regret not telling my father I loved him every day before his passing, I showed him that I was here through my acts of love. That I wouldn't leave his side, wouldn't hold onto the anger when he decided to stop attending appointments and chemotherapy, and most importantly, I wouldn't forget every memory made. Everyone has a different love language, and my father was acts of kindness, love, and care. Expressing my emotions has never been my strong suit, but through my time with him. Whether it be reading to him at night, watching Marvel movies, or outside barbecuing. It was those seconds, minutes, and hours that showed me the love of another's presence. Just being there and reminiscing about these moments keeps him alive in my heart. That the moments spent with him were a representation of my love for my father.

" Some are born with silver spoons but not us, not you," my mother said. She looked into my eyes, and I could see the pain as she spoke of the past. Her parents were immigrants that fled to the United States after the Vietnam War. Their homes and families were destroyed; everything was lost. They only held onto each other and their hopes for a better life. And when arriving in this foreign country, they immediately began work; spending countless hours for so little money that wasn't enough to support the family they created; and it wouldn't be enough later on as their children grew. But it was all they've ever known; my grandparents couldn't speak English and struggled to read and write. With little knowledge of the United States, they continued to work and save every cent earned. And yet, they were still poor. This affected their children, leading them all in different directions in life. One of them showed my mother getting married at the age of 16 and pregnant at the age of 19. She was a lost and confused child that was verbally and physically abused by my grandmother. She did as much as possible to help herself, but being in a toxic relationship with a child was hard. She didn't know about the endless opportunities education could provide, so she stayed there. After my older sister, she had my brother, me, and my two younger sisters. There were five of us, and my mother didn't want her cycle of struggle to reflect upon her children. Which is why she's pushed for her children to take advantage of the educational opportunities in life. Her story is one of the reasons I want to pursue law and continue my education. Unlike my parents, I have the opportunity and support to achieve my goals, one of them being that through my Law degree, I can patch the holes created in my community. I wanted to pursue law to help not only myself but others. Through higher education, I can generate support for those with little to no knowledge of the resources provided and argue the rights of these families and individuals like my mother. It may sound cliche, but it is time for a change in my community and several others, and I am willing to dedicate my time and life to doing so for the better of the world and our society.