"You can do hard things." I used to be frustrated by those words. I wanted to get by doing the bare minimum; why should I even try to challenge myself? However, my mom knew what I needed. She was a public school teacher, but when we moved to Haiti in 2008, she researched all of the best home-school curricula and planned a whole school year's worth of lessons for me, my two brothers, and two sisters. I wish I could say that I was a perfect student, but among my mom's teaching was the importance of honesty, so: I was often unreasonably defiant and probably incredibly frustrating to teach. I remember several instances where I could have finished an assignment in ten minutes, but instead, refused incessantly and dragged it out for multiple hours. As always, my mom met me with patience and a quiet persistence. In middle school, I learned that I loved to read novels, and I consumed them voraciously. As the years went on, my worldview expanded. I began to take notice of the poverty surrounding me in Haiti. Families could not afford to send their children to school. Those that could, usually did not attend past eighth grade. None of the people around me read books, either because they never had the opportunity learn, or because they were just trying to make it through the day. I began to see education as a privilege, not a burden. My family adopted two more girls from Haiti, making us a family of nine. In 2019, we moved back to the United States. March 22, 2020, my mom unexpectedly had a seizure. I will never forget my younger sister’s voice as she called out to our mom, or the sound of the ambulance sirens approaching as I stood, barefoot in the slush still on the ground. After a 45 day battle with Glioblastoma Multiforme, an extremely aggressive brain cancer, my mom passed away. I have a lot of regrets, but one of the things I am incredibly grateful for is that I took the time to apologize to my mom for how difficult I was to teach as a child. I got to thank her for all of her efforts to make sure I was well-educated. She accepted my apology, but I knew that she would do it all over again, ten-fold, if she had to. She loved being our teacher. I am now in my third year of college, pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in Elementary and Special Education. I want to be a teacher who challenges her students, even when they do not want to be challenged. I want to be a teacher who makes her students feel safe, like they are not a burden. I want to be a teacher who exemplifies the epitome of patience. I want to be a teacher like my mom. My mom’s work was cut short, when she was only 45 years old. She still had so many lessons to teach my siblings and me, both academic and life lessons. I know that I will never be able to replace my mom, I would not even dare to try, but I aspire follow her example. I can follow in her footsteps. It has not been, and it will not be easy, but that’s okay, because I can do hard things.

In 2018, my family lived in Haiti. My siblings and I were home-schooled by our mom, who was a teacher before we moved there. My parents decided to adopt a little girl, Daphne. Daphne has Angelman Syndrome, a genetic disorder that causes severe developmental and cognitive disabilities. Daphne is the most joyful child I have ever had the privilege of knowing. She truly lights up whichever room she enters. In 2019, we moved back to the United States. I began to attend all of Daphne's appointments and physical, occupational, and speech therapies, along with my mom. I loved seeing Daphne making progress and meeting her goals. I began to consider a career working with children similar to Daphne. In early 2020, when the rest of the world was learning to live in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, my family was struggling to accept a difficult diagnosis. The first symptom of my mom’s brain cancer was a tonic-clonic seizure. Though it was entirely unexpected, my siblings and I knew what to do because of our experience with Daphne, who experiences the same seizures. A hospital stay and a biopsy later, we were met with our worst fears: my mom had the most aggressive grade of Glioblastoma Multiforme. Forty-five days after her initial seizure, my mom passed away. I became Daphne's full-time caretaker, as my dad was working. I was halfway through my senior year of high school when this happened. Because I was home-schooled, I no longer had my mom to be my teacher. I ended up getting a GED. This is not the direction I had expected my life to go. I spent a year taking care of Daphne. I felt stuck, as though was unable to work and save money or attend college. After a while, I became a substitute teacher, mainly working in Special Education classrooms. I felt comfortable there due to my experience with Daphne. I decided to pursue a career in Special Education. I applied to the University of South Dakota and began taking online courses so that I could continue to care for Daphne. It has not been easy to cope with the loss of my mom. It feels strange to know that the world goes on for everyone else even though, at times, it feels like mine has ended. I have become a mother figure for my siblings; stepping into her shoes, knowing that they will never fit quite right. Some days, I take a few minutes to look over old pictures and feel the grief. It does not hurt less as time goes on, it only hurts differently. Losing a mom, teacher, and friend all at once devastated me. I also lost freedom when I had to care for my sister. However, it helped my realize that I have a passion for Special Education. I miss my mom every day. I will forever be grateful for the education she gave me and the patience she taught me while she was here. Knowing that following her footsteps to become a teacher and taking care of my siblings would make her proud is how I keep going. I am her legacy, and I am determined to make it a great one.

I was home-schooled as a child. Often, this method of instruction receives a bad reputation, and in some cases, this is justified. However, this was not the case in my situation. My mom was an educated, certified teacher. In 2008, when my family moved to Haiti, where education options are limited, she chose to teach us herself. It is an interesting experience, having your mom educate you. There was nothing she did not know about me. When I was to write an essay on my three favorite foods, she knew them. I could not surprise her with interesting facts about my life. However, in the same sense, she knew how best to support me. When I stayed up too late reading, she knew. She met me in the morning with compassion, patience, and a bit of lenience. The method of my mom's teaching has had a remarkable impact on my life. She put my siblings and me first, making sure that we were well-educated, even when we wished she would let us off without doing any work. She always taught us with patience and respect, something that I realize now is lacking in other homeschooling families. This respect meant that she cared enough to make sure we would succeed. She did not let us fall behind in our work. We moved back to the United States in 2019. Months later, while the rest of the world was learning to live amid the COVID-19 pandemic, my family was struggling to accept a difficult diagnosis. The first symptom of my mom’s brain cancer was a tonic-clonic seizure. Though it was entirely unexpected, my siblings and I knew what to do because of our experience with our sister Daphne, who experiences the same seizures. A hospital stay and a biopsy later, we were met with our worst fears: my mom had the most aggressive grade of Glioblastoma Multiforme. Forty-five days after her initial seizure, my mom passed away. It is an experience like no other, losing your mom. A thousand times a day, I think of something I want to tell her. A thousand times a day, I remember that I am no longer able to. A thousand times a day, I lose her again, grieve her again, and wish for her to be with me once again. My mom truly was my best friend. After she died, one of her friends told me how my mom used to talk about me. Her friend said that most mothers talk about their children in a way that sounds like an obligation. Not my mom, however. When she spoke of my siblings and me, it became obvious that she not only saw us as individual people, but she liked us as individual people. She spoke about us in a way that commanded respect and dignity. Her friend said that our mom always spoke about us with joy and pride. She felt privileged to be our mom. I have chosen to be a teacher, following in the footsteps of my mom, though I know I will never be able to fill her shoes. She is no longer here, but I still take counsel from my memories of her. She taught me patience and respect, qualities that are essential to a teacher. She taught me to take pride in my students and to treat them as friends. On days that I feel discouraged, I think of how proud she would be of me. Knowing that my mom would be proud of me encourages me to keep working toward the future that she prepared me for.

I was home-schooled as a child. Often, this method of instruction receives a bad reputation, and in some cases, this is justified. However, this was not the case in my situation. My mom was an educated, certified teacher. In 2008, when my family moved to Haiti, where education options are limited, she chose to teach us herself. It is an interesting experience, having your mom educate you. There was nothing she did not know about me. When I was to write an essay on my three favorite foods, she knew them. I could not surprise her with interesting facts about my life. However, in the same sense, she knew how best to support me. When I stayed up too late reading, she knew. She met me in the morning with compassion, patience, and a bit of lenience. The method of my mom's teaching has had a remarkable impact on my life. She put my siblings and me first, making sure that we were well-educated, even when we wished she would let us off without doing any work. She always taught us with patience and respect, something that I realize now is lacking in other homeschooling families. This respect meant that she cared enough to make sure we would succeed. She did not let us fall behind in our work. We moved back to the United States in 2019. Months later, while the rest of the world was learning to live amid the COVID-19 pandemic, my family was struggling to accept a difficult diagnosis. The first symptom of my mom’s brain cancer was a tonic-clonic seizure. Though it was entirely unexpected, my siblings and I knew what to do because of our experience with our sister Daphne, who experiences the same seizures. A hospital stay and a biopsy later, we were met with our worst fears: my mom had the most aggressive grade of Glioblastoma Multiforme. Forty-five days after her initial seizure, my mom passed away. It is an experience like no other, losing your mom. A thousand times a day, I think of something I want to tell her. A thousand times a day, I remember that I am no longer able to. A thousand times a day, I lose her again, grieve her again, and wish for her to be with me once again. My mom truly was my best friend. After she died, one of her friends told me how my mom used to talk about me. Her friend said that most mothers talk about their children in a way that sounds like an obligation. Not my mom, however. When she spoke of my siblings and me, it became obvious that she not only saw us as individual people, but she liked us as individual people. She spoke about us in a way that commanded respect and dignity. Her friend said that our mom always spoke about us with joy and pride. She felt privileged to be our mom. I have chosen to be a teacher, following in the footsteps of my mom, though I know I will never be able to fill her shoes. She is no longer here, but I still take counsel from my memories of her. She taught me patience and respect, qualities that are essential to a teacher. She taught me to take pride in my students and to treat them as friends. On days that I feel discouraged, I think of how proud she would be of me. Knowing that my mom would be proud of me encourages me to keep working toward the future that she prepared me for.

I was home-schooled as a child. Often, this method of instruction receives a bad reputation, and in some cases, this is justified. However, this was not the case in my situation. My mom was an educated, certified teacher. In 2008, when my family moved to Haiti, where education options are limited, she chose to teach us herself. It is an interesting experience, having your mom educate you. There was nothing she did not know about me. When I was to write an essay on my three favorite foods, she knew them. I could not surprise her with interesting facts about my life. However, in the same sense, she knew how best to support me. When I stayed up too late reading, she knew. She met me in the morning with compassion, patience, and a bit of lenience. The method of my mom's teaching has had a remarkable impact on my life. She put my siblings and me first, making sure that we were well-educated, even when we wished she would let us off without doing any work. She always taught us with patience and respect, something that I realize now is lacking in other homeschooling families. This respect meant that she cared enough to make sure we would succeed. She did not let us fall behind in our work. We moved back to the United States in 2019. Months later, while the rest of the world was learning to live amid the COVID-19 pandemic, my family was struggling to accept a difficult diagnosis. The first symptom of my mom’s brain cancer was a tonic-clonic seizure. Though it was entirely unexpected, my siblings and I knew what to do because of our experience with our sister Daphne, who experiences the same seizures. A hospital stay and a biopsy later, we were met with our worst fears: my mom had the most aggressive grade of Glioblastoma Multiforme. Forty-five days after her initial seizure, my mom passed away. It is an experience like no other, losing your mom. A thousand times a day, I think of something I want to tell her. A thousand times a day, I remember that I am no longer able to. A thousand times a day, I lose her again, grieve her again, and wish for her to be with me once again. My mom truly was my best friend. After she died, one of her friends told me how my mom used to talk about me. Her friend said that most mothers talk about their children in a way that sounds like an obligation. Not my mom, however. When she spoke of my siblings and me, it became obvious that she not only saw us as individual people, but she liked us as individual people. She spoke about us in a way that commanded respect and dignity. Her friend said that our mom always spoke about us with joy and pride. She felt privileged to be our mom. I have chosen to be a teacher, following in the footsteps of my mom, though I know I will never be able to fill her shoes. She is no longer here, but I still take counsel from my memories of her. She taught me patience and respect, qualities that are essential to a teacher. She taught me to take pride in my students and to treat them as friends. On days that I feel discouraged, I think of how proud she would be of me. Knowing that my mom would be proud of me encourages me to keep working toward the future that she prepared me for.

When I was young, my family lived in Haiti. This Caribbean nation has had a difficult history, marred by dictators, natural disasters, and the poverty that accompanies them. One of the results of this poverty is a lack of education. While there are hundreds of schools in the country, the majority are private, for-profit organizations. Often, students leave school at the eighth-grade level, or sooner, to enter the workforce. Being in close proximity to those experiencing this, I learned to value education in a new way. My mom, who was a teacher before we moved to Haiti, homeschooled my siblings and me. I greatly appreciate the dedication she had to make sure we were well-educated. In 2018, my family still living in Haiti, my parents decided to adopt a little girl, Daphne. Daphne has Angelman Syndrome, a genetic disorder that causes severe developmental and cognitive disabilities. Daphne is the most joyful child I have ever had the privilege of knowing. She truly lights up whichever room she enters. In 2019, we moved back to the United States. I began to attend all of Daphne's appointments and physical, occupational, and speech therapies, along with my mom. I loved seeing Daphne making progress and meeting her goals. I began to consider a career working with children similar to Daphne. In early 2020, when the rest of the world was learning to live in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, my family was struggling to accept a difficult diagnosis. The first symptom of my mom’s brain cancer was a tonic-clonic seizure. Though it was entirely unexpected, my siblings and I knew what to do because of our experience with Daphne, who experiences the same seizures. A hospital stay and a biopsy later, we were met with our worst fears: my mom had the most aggressive grade of Glioblastoma Multiforme. Forty-five days after her initial seizure, my mom passed away. I became Daphne's full-time caretaker, as my dad was working. I was halfway through my senior year of high school when this happened. Because I no longer had my mom to be my teacher, I ended up getting a GED. This is not the direction I had expected my life to go, but I accepted it. Around a year later, I applied to be a substitute teacher. I soon found that my favorite classrooms to work in were the Special Education classes. A few months later, I decided to take real steps to become a Special Education teacher. I applied to the University of South Dakota and began taking online classes. I still substitute in Special Education classrooms because I feel that it provides more experience and supplements my education. It brings me the greatest joy to get to know the students in these classrooms. When I was young, I could never have anticipated the direction my life would take. However, it has brought me to where I am today. Living in Haiti, taking care of Daphne, losing my mom, and substituting have all driven me to pursue a career in education. In all that I do, I seek to learn well, provide a loving and kind environment that fosters learning for my students, and make my mom proud of the teacher I will become.