I was seventeen when my brother Zeb died. We were Irish twins, only ten months apart, which meant we grew up side by side in nearly every way. Losing him did not just mean losing a sibling; it meant losing the person who had mirrored my childhood. At seventeen, I was old enough to grasp the permanence of death but young enough to feel completely unprepared for it. I was open about my grief. I cried easily. I talked about Zeb often. Saying his name and revisiting memories helped me process what felt unbearable. My younger sister was only eight years old. Her grief looked very different. She stopped talking about many of her emotions. She grew quieter, more guarded. Where I processed out loud, she turned inward. Watching her struggle to express what she was feeling changed me. My mom began teaching me about social-emotional development, how children at different ages understand and process loss. She explained that my sister might not have the language yet to describe what she was experiencing. Instead of pushing her to open up, my mom encouraged me to narrate my own feelings more intentionally. To say things like, “I’m feeling really sad today because I miss Zeb,” or “I am really excited for my show choir trip this weekend!” or "Today it made me happy when someone at school shared a memory of Zeb." The goal wasn’t to center myself, it was to model emotional vocabulary so my sister could grow more comfortable with her own. Without realizing it, I was being trained in social emotional development. I learned that grief can show up as silence. That children often protect themselves by withdrawing. That emotional safety is built through consistency and modeling, not pressure. I learned that naming feelings out loud can give someone else permission to do the same. At the same time, I had to support my own healing. Being the more outward processor did not make my grief lighter. I had to give myself space to cry and question while also being steady for my sister. Balancing both deepened my resilience and emotional awareness. My faith anchored me through it all. I believe in a loving Heavenly Father and a Savior who understand grief perfectly. I felt peace alongside sorrow, not because the pain was small, but because I believed our family relationships did not end with death. That belief gave me steadiness when everything else felt uncertain. Years later, when I faced another season of trauma and depression, I leaned on what I had learned at seventeen: that healing takes time, that emotions must be acknowledged to be processed, and that support often looks like quiet presence rather than fixing. Losing Zeb did not only shape my character, it shaped my calling. I want to work with grieving and traumatized children and families. I have seen firsthand how differently loss is experienced at eight years old versus seventeen. I understand the power of parents and caregivers modeling emotional language. In my career, I hope to help families create that kind of safety, where children feel equipped, not ashamed, to express what they are carrying. Perseverance, to me, is learning how to carry grief while still growing. Passion is turning personal loss into purposeful service. Dedication is committing to walk with families through their hardest seasons with empathy and knowledge. Zeb and I were only ten months apart, but the space his absence created shaped the direction of my life. I carry him with me, in my faith, in my empathy, and in my commitment to helping others heal.

My career goal is to be a Child Life Specialist and to work with children and families facing unfamiliar and scary hospital environments during times of illness, unfamiliarity, and loss. I am passionate about this profession because my life experiences and professional work have shown me how deeply children and families need honesty, emotional support, and compassion during difficult moments in their life. In the future, I also hope to open a nonprofit grief support center for children and families so that no one has to go through loss alone. My interest in working with children and families began years ago, long before I lost my brother. As a teenager, I was drawn to the field of Child Life because I cared deeply about children’s emotional well-being and how they experience fear, change, and medical environments. Although my path has shifted, this early interest stayed with me and guided my decisions. I originally pursued a degree in Early Childhood Education while working full-time as a preschool teacher. As the lead teacher, I focused on social and emotional development, helping children recognize emotions, manage big feelings, and understand others. After three years of teaching, I transitioned to a full-time nanny role, where I continued this approach while working closely with families. Through this experience, I realized that not only children need support. Parents, and sometimes grandparents, also need guidance and space to process emotions. This realization led me to change my major to Marriage and Family Studies and strengthened my desire to support the entire family system. After losing my brother at seventeen, my interest in Child Life remained in the background, but it was not until I transitioned to nannying and attended school part-time that I began seriously reconsidering this path. Working closely with families showed me how deeply stress affects children, parents, and siblings. Watching my eight-year-old sister struggle to understand my brother’s death made it clear how often children’s grief is misunderstood. These experiences led me to return to my original goal of becoming a Child Life Specialist. I am currently studying Marriage and Family Studies because I believe healing happens within relationships. As a Child Life Specialist, I hope to make hospital experiences less frightening by explaining procedures in child friendly ways, using play and tools such as medical dolls, and supporting siblings as well as patients. I also hope to support families through serious illness, loss, and the transition into grief. One day, I hope to open a nonprofit children and family grief support center where children and caregivers can find education, connection, and support. Choosing this path required significant sacrifice. I was only thirty credits away from completing my degree in Early Childhood Education when I decided to change my major and transfer to a new school. At the same time, I left behind my full time nanny position and its steady income. I knew this decision would lead to financial struggle, but I also knew that staying on an easier path would not lead me to the work I truly wanted to do. I paid for much of my education out of pocket and have relied on savings and student loans to continue. I also believe education is a powerful tool for growth and public service. My college journey has helped me come into my own and find my purpose. With only two and a half semesters remaining, this scholarship would directly help me pay for tuition and complete my degree so I can continue pursuing a life dedicated to supporting children and families.

One of the biggest challenges I have faced in my life is learning how to succeed in college while living with a learning difference and financial stress. For many years, I believed that my learning disability meant I was less capable than other students. Over time, this challenge became the reason I grew stronger, more confident, and more persistent in keeping going. I was diagnosed with learning disabilities at a young age and had an Individualized Education Program throughout my schooling. I also began early intervention services before the age of two, which meant I was working to overcome learning challenges from a very young age. Even with this support, school wasn’t easy. I worked hard, but it often felt like I had to put in twice the effort than the other kids to keep up. When I entered college, these challenges followed me. Although I did not grow up in a low income household, I am currently in a low income situation. I am not working while completing my degree and do not receive financial support from my family. On top of this, I do not qualify for financial aid through FAFSA because of my previous income. As a result, I have had to rely on student loans to continue my education, which has added a great deal of stress and pressure. At first, I tried to handle everything on my own. I avoided using academic accommodations because I felt embarrassed and worried about being judged. I also believed I should manage my finances without help.That is why I worked full time as a nanny during the day and took evening classes. During Covid, led to burnout, academic struggles, and failed classes. During this time, I questioned whether I truly belonged in college. This difficult period became a turning point for me. I realized that continuing without support was not sustainable. I began using disability accommodations and learned how to advocate for my needs. I also learned how to budget carefully, make sacrifices, and prioritize my education despite financial strain. Accepting help both academically and financially changed my outlook and my progress. Using accommodations allowed me to improve academically, but the growth went beyond grades. I developed better study habits, gained confidence, and learned how I learn best. I stopped seeing my learning differences as a weakness and began to understand that it simply requires different tools and strategies than other people. This shift in mindset helped me rebuild trust in myself as a capable student. Facing these challenges taught me resilience and responsibility. I am currently passing my classes and making steady progress toward graduation, even while managing financial stress and student loan responsibility. Today, I am in school studying Marriage and Family Studies because I want to support people through many different walks of life. My experiences with learning disabilities, financial stress, and personal loss have shown me how important it is for people to have support during difficult times. I want to help children feel safe, help families stay strong, and support individuals as they navigate trauma, grief, and major life challenges. My goal is to work in a helping profession where I can provide compassion, understanding, and advocacy to those who need it most. Although my path has been challenging, it has given me a better understanding, meaning, and a deep commitment to helping others.

The family member I lost was my brother Zeb, or Zebbie as I so fondly remember. His death changed my life in ways I could never have imagined, and it continues to shape who I am, how I move through the world, and why I refuse to give up on my goals. My brother and I were only ten months apart, which meant we grew up almost like twins. We shared childhood memories, routines, and a deep sense of connection. He was not just my brother. He was my closest peer and someone I expected to grow up alongside. Losing him to suicide during my junior year of high school was devastating. In an instant, the future I had imagined for my family and myself was altered forever. Grief touched every part of my life. School became harder. Motivation felt distant. I carried not only my own pain, but also the weight of watching my family struggle. One of the hardest parts was seeing my younger sister, who was only eight years old at the time, try to understand a loss that no child should have to face. Her confusion, sadness, and fear made the loss feel even heavier. I learned quickly that grief does not happen in isolation. It ripples through families and changes everyone it touches. For a long time, simply getting through each day felt like an accomplishment. Yet even in my darkest moments, I knew I wanted more than survival. I wanted to honor my brother by continuing forward, even when it felt unfair and exhausting. That decision did not come easily, and my path since then has not been smooth or straightforward. After high school, I moved far away from my family and worked full time while attending college. I struggled at times, failed classes, and questioned whether continuing was worth it. Grief does not follow a timeline, and there were moments when it resurfaced unexpectedly, making progress feel impossible. Still, I kept going. I learned that perseverance does not always look strong or confident. Sometimes it looks like showing up tired, asking for help, and trying again after setbacks. Losing my brother also shaped my purpose. Watching my sister grieve made me realize how often siblings are overlooked after loss. Families are left to navigate pain without enough support, especially for children. This realization inspired my desire to pursue a career that supports families through trauma, illness, and grief. I want to be the person who notices, listens, and helps others feel less alone during their hardest moments. My brother’s death taught me empathy, patience, and resilience. It forced me to grow up faster than I was ready to, but it also gave me clarity about what matters. I carry his memory with me in everything I do. Continuing my education is not just a personal goal. It is a promise to myself and to him that my life will be shaped by purpose, compassion, and perseverance. Although losing my brother was life altering, it did not end my story. Instead, it became the reason I fight to keep going. His life and his loss continue to motivate me to build a future rooted in service, understanding, and hope.

Service has always been an important part of my life. I am someone who believes that helping others, even in small ways, can make a big difference. I am currently an undergraduate student studying Marriage and Family Studies, and my goal is to become a Child Life Specialist. I want to spend my life serving children and families during hard times, especially when they feel scared, sad, or alone. I grew up being involved in service through my church community. From a young age, I participated in many service projects, such as helping families in need, visiting people, and supporting those going through difficult situations. These experiences taught me that service is not about recognition, but about showing up for others with kindness and care. I was also very involved in Girl Scouts, where service was a big part of what we did. One memory from Girl Scouts has stayed with me for many years. When I was about eleven years old, my troop made cookies to bring to a homeless shelter. We were excited and proud of what we had made. As we handed the cookies out, a little boy quickly grabbed one from one of our hands. Most of my troop mates thought he was being rude or impolite. But I didn’t see it that way. I remember thinking about why he grabbed the cookie so fast. I realized that he probably did not get treats very often. He might have been worried that the cookie would be taken away or that there wouldn’t be enough. To him, that cookie was special. Instead of seeing rudeness, I saw a child who was excited and unsure. That moment taught me something important: the people we serve are not problems to be judged, but people to be understood and loved. As I got older, service continued to be a big part of my life. I worked as a teacher and later as a nanny, where I supported children and families every day. I helped children feel safe, listened to their feelings, and supported parents during stressful times. I learned that service often means being patient, kind, and present, even when things are hard. My desire to serve others is also connected to personal loss. After my brother died, I watched my younger sister struggle with grief. Seeing her pain made me want to help families and siblings who are hurting. I want to be someone who notices those who are often overlooked and helps them feel seen. I believe I am a good candidate for this scholarship because service is not something I do once in a while, it is part of who I am. I try to see people as people, not as labels or situations. Whether through my church, Girl Scouts, or my future career, my goal is simple: to love others, serve my community, and make the world a kinder place.

I was diagnosed with Neurofibromatosis (NF) at a young age, and it has shaped nearly every part of my life, my health, my education, and how I see the world. Along with NF came a learning disability that made school especially challenging. From an early age, I had an Individualized Education Program (IEP) and struggled academically. Many people around me believed my diagnosis would limit my future, and for a long time, I shared those doubts myself. However, living with NF has also given me resilience, empathy, and a deep understanding of what it means to persevere through challenges. My experiences in hospitals and medical appointments are some of my earliest memories. One appointment stands out, even twenty years later. During one of my NF visits, a Child Life Specialist took the time to play with me and make the hospital feel less frightening. In a moment when I felt overwhelmed, that small act of kindness gave me comfort and a sense of normalcy. At the time, I did not realize how impactful that interaction would be, but it stayed with me and planted the seed for the career path I am now pursuing. My motivation to continue my education and enter a helping profession deepened after my brother died by suicide when I was in high school. Watching my younger sister, who was only eight years old at the time, struggle with grief was heartbreaking. I saw firsthand how siblings are often overlooked during times of loss and crisis. That experience gave me a strong desire to help families and siblings navigate grief, illness, and trauma with compassion and understanding. Despite my learning disability, I have remained committed to higher education. My nine-year college journey has not been linear. I have failed classes, felt discouraged, and questioned my abilities, especially during times when shame prevented me from using the accommodations I needed. Over time, I learned that advocating for myself and accepting support is not a weakness, but a strength. Using accommodations allowed me to succeed academically and reaffirmed my belief that students with disabilities deserve access, dignity, and opportunity. As a result of these changes, my academic performance has significantly improved. I am currently passing all of my classes and making steady progress toward graduation. I am on track to complete my degree by the end of this year, which represents both an academic achievement and a personal victory. I have been in college for almost nine years. For the first seven years, I worked full-time as a preschool teacher and then a nanny while taking online classes. I was only 30 credits away from completing my degree in Early Childhood Education when I made the difficult decision to transfer and change my major. I am now pursuing a degree in Marriage and Family Studies with the goal of becoming a Child Life Specialist. My lived experiences with NF, learning disabilities, grief, and hospital environments uniquely position me to connect with children and families during vulnerable moments. I believe I am a strong candidate for the Dylan’s Journey Memorial Scholarship because I embody the message Dylan lived by: a diagnosis does not define potential. Like Dylan, I continue to pursue my educational dreams despite challenges, and I am committed to using my experiences to uplift others. This scholarship would support not only my education, but also my mission to create safe, supportive spaces for children with medical needs and learning differences, so that one day, I can be the person a child remembers as the reason they felt brave and seen.

Growing up, I had an IEP and consistently struggled in school. My teachers, doctors, and even my parents did not believe I would ever be able to live independently or succeed academically. At the beginning of my junior year of high school, my brother died by suicide. We were only ten months apart, and his death profoundly changed my life. I faced new emotional, academic, and personal challenges as I learned to navigate intense grief while trying to finish school. After high school, I moved more than 2,000 miles away from my family. I worked full time and attended school in the evenings, determined to prove to myself that I was capable. During that time, I did well academically and even made the dean’s list. However, I did not use my school’s disability services because I felt embarrassed and ashamed of needing accommodations. After COVID, online classes, and another unexpected life challenge, I began struggling academically again and ultimately failed classes. It was then that I chose to use accommodations and learned the importance of accepting support and utilizing available resources rather than facing challenges alone. I transferred to BYU–Idaho in the fall of 2025 and made the difficult decision to change my major, even though I was only 30 credits away from completing my bachelor’s degree in Early Childhood Education. I am now working toward a degree in Marriage and Family Studies because, after working as a teacher and later as a nanny, I realized how deeply I value supporting the entire family system. I decided to return to the career path I dreamed of as a teenager: becoming a Child Life Specialist. I hope to work with families in hospitals as they face frightening medical experiences and to support siblings navigating grief and trauma. Families need compassion, advocacy, and empathy, qualities shaped by my own experiences and ones I am ready and eager to give. I am currently enrolled full time and have paid for my education out of pocket throughout my almost nine years in college. This was manageable when I worked full time in a large city, but I am no longer working while completing my degree. I do not qualify for financial aid due to my previous income, which I have already used to pay for tuition and basic living expenses. Over the past year, I have had to rely on student loans, which has been financially and emotionally challenging. This scholarship would directly help me pay for my remaining coursework. I have only three semesters left, two semesters of classes and my internship. I am deeply committed to using my education to serve individuals and families who are often overlooked, misunderstood, or forgotten, just as I once felt myself.

My life forever changed when my "Irish Twin" brother Zeb died by suicide. I remember that day so well. I remember racing my way home excited to tell him that the program I was in at school had a spot available and how it would be awesome if he could be in it with me -- something I think could have saved his life. I remember feeling so grateful for the bond we had re-established over the previous few months and how we hadn't fought in months. Losing a sibling to suicide at 17 was difficult for me both at home and at school. None of my friends had known anyone to die by suicide, let alone known anyone as young as 16 dying. My friends didn't know how to support me, how to talk or acknowledge my loss, and I felt bad for them that they had to deal with me. Since my brother was just a grade below me, I also would see his friends in the hallway. One of the people who claimed to be his friend, and who was in the show choir with me would make inappropriate comments about how he died. She would say that her disabled brother was smart enough to not do something like that. She would come up with theories about how or why he did it. It was difficult for me to deal with people's opinions on suicide. But they didn't know his story. They did not know that it was because of his birth mother that he struggled with FASD and language processing disorder. They also did not know that he struggled with impulse control. They did not know that he was often confused. All they knew was that he was the boy who walked around the school on his hands, did flips down the hallway, got around the hallways doing parkour, was very adept at party tricks, and made people laugh. About four years after his death, I learned about the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, and I started attending walks. I walked with other people who held orange beads for a sibling loss. I walked with others who had lost loved ones. I walked in alone but walked out with others. I have attended walks since then and have been able to raise money for the cause. I am a committed advocate for suicide prevention and often share stories of my brother. I have had others come to me and tell me that my sharing stories of my brother has saved them as they realize how much suicide impacts others. One of the challenges as a suicide loss survivor which has impacted me has been having suicidal thoughts myself, but it is also something that has saved me. I remember what it felt like going through that grief, and it has helped me process my thoughts. Though it is something I have mainly been able to get through, I still suffer from depression and anxiety. I am in school now pursuing my Bachelor's Degree in Marriage and Family Studies. I hope to become a Child Life Specialist and support families with children going through their hospital experience. I would also support families through the process of grief. I have also considered going into child bereavement, as I remember the support groups helping me and my eight-year-old sister. I would be honored to be granted this scholarship because of the loss of my dear brother Zeb, and I plan on using my degree to help children and families going through loss, grief, and trauma just as I have.

I would be a good candidate for Dylan's Journey Memorial Scholarship because I have been affected by Neurofibromatosis and I am interested in continuing higher education. One of the areas that NF has affected me is with learning disabilities. At the age of two, I started in speech and occupational therapy, which I stayed in until my sixth/seventh-grade year. I was also on an IEP all through school. As a child, my parents, teachers, doctors, and even I thought I would never be able to live alone. After graduating from high school, I moved 2,400 miles away to Seattle, surprising everyone with my independence and determination. I taught preschool for three years while attending a community college in the evenings to study Early Childhood Education. During the pandemic in 2020, I switched to being a nanny, where I learned my love for supporting families. During that time, I received my associate's degree in ECE. I nannied for 4 years and decided to switch my major to Marriage and Family Studies, hoping to become a child life specialist to support families in the hospital. Growing up with NF, I had many doctor's visits in the hospital, and I remember a Child Life Specialist coming in and playing with me. It made that appointment less scary. It wasn't always easy going to the hospital, and I was lucky enough that I rarely needed overnight hospital stays. After my brother died unexpectedly when I was 17 and watching my 8-year-old sister navigate her grief deepened my commitment to supporting families through difficult times. In addition to supporting children who are patients in the hospital, as a Child Life Specialist, I could help siblings understand and cope with the patient's medical issues and possibly their death while providing emotional support to the whole family. I am very active in the NF community and attended NF camp for a couple of years as a teenager. I met other children with NF and learned how NF impacts us each differently. I have also attended a few NF walks in Seattle and was nominated as the spotlight for adults with NF in 2020. And this year I was chosen to be featured on a billboard promoting awareness for NF. I am deeply passionate about pursuing this career path and feel I deserve this scholarship because of my connection to the hospital experience and empathy for others. My journey with NF has shaped my resilience and my commitment to helping others through difficult moments in their lives.