My name is Jamaya Pelcher, and cancer didn’t just affect my family—it changed how I understand strength, and what it really means to carry it forward. My mom, Serita Carter, battled leukemia for two years. She was only 43. For most of that time, I believed she was going to beat it, because she carried herself like she would. Even on her hardest days, she didn’t let cancer define how she treated us. She still asked me about school, still checked in on how I was doing, like nothing had changed. Sometimes I would catch myself answering like everything was normal too, even though we both knew it wasn’t. Looking back, I realize that was our way of holding onto each other without saying it out loud. During my senior year of high school, she spent two straight months in the hospital while her immune system was at its weakest. Visiting her became part of my routine, even though it never really felt normal. I would sit there for hours, and somehow it still felt like I never had enough time with her. So when we heard the word “remission,” it felt like we could finally breathe again. After everything she had been through, she was able to come home. For a moment, it felt like life was giving us something back. I remember thinking, we made it through the worst part. But we didn’t. After coming home, she got food poisoning. Because her immune system was still so weak, her body couldn’t recover the way it should have. What seemed small quickly became something serious. She developed pneumonia, and within weeks, everything changed. We went from relief to hearing the word “hospice.” Two weeks later, everything we thought we had gotten back was gone. Losing her during my senior year felt like everything around me just stopped. I didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t care about assignments, graduation, or anything people kept telling me was important. It felt meaningless compared to what I had just lost. There were days I couldn’t see past the next few hours. But somehow, I kept going—sometimes not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know what else to do. What cancer taught me wasn’t just about loss—it taught me what real strength looks like. Before, I thought strength meant staying positive or pushing through without breaking. Now I know it can look like getting out of bed when you don’t want to. It can look like showing up, even when you feel empty. It can look like taking life one day at a time and deciding, even quietly, not to give up. It also taught me how quickly life can change. Watching my mom go from fighting, to remission, to gone in such a short time changed the way I see everything. I don’t take time for granted anymore. I value the people in my life more deeply, and I carry the way she lived with me—always giving, always putting others first. I’m still healing, but I keep going. Today, as a freshman at East Tennessee State University, I carry her with me in everything I do. Her strength is the reason I continue working toward my goal of becoming a social worker, so I can be there for others during the hardest moments of their lives—just like she was for me. Cancer took my mom, Serita Carter, from me at 43—but it left me with her strength, and I carry it with me every day.

My name is Jamaya Pelcher, and cancer didn’t just affect my family—it changed how I understand strength, and what it really means to carry it forward. My mom, Serita Carter, battled leukemia for two years. She was only 43. For most of that time, I believed she was going to beat it, because she carried herself like she would. Even on her hardest days, she didn’t let cancer define how she treated us. She still asked me about school, still checked in on how I was doing, like nothing had changed. Sometimes I would catch myself answering like everything was normal too, even though we both knew it wasn’t. Looking back, I realize that was our way of holding onto each other without saying it out loud. During my senior year of high school, she spent two straight months in the hospital while her immune system was at its weakest. Visiting her became part of my routine, even though it never really felt normal. I would sit there for hours, and somehow it still felt like I never had enough time with her. So when we heard the word “remission,” it felt like we could finally breathe again. After everything she had been through, she was able to come home. For a moment, it felt like life was giving us something back. I remember thinking, we made it through the worst part. But we didn’t. After coming home, she got food poisoning. Because her immune system was still so weak, her body couldn’t recover the way it should have. What seemed small quickly became something serious. She developed pneumonia, and within weeks, everything changed. We went from relief to hearing the word “hospice.” Two weeks later, everything we thought we had gotten back was gone. Losing her during my senior year felt like everything around me just stopped. I didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t care about assignments, graduation, or anything people kept telling me was important. It felt meaningless compared to what I had just lost. There were days I couldn’t see past the next few hours. But somehow, I kept going—sometimes not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know what else to do. What cancer taught me wasn’t just about loss—it taught me what real strength looks like. Before, I thought strength meant staying positive or pushing through without breaking. Now I know it can look like getting out of bed when you don’t want to. It can look like showing up, even when you feel empty. It can look like taking life one day at a time and deciding, even quietly, not to give up. It also taught me how quickly life can change. Watching my mom go from fighting, to remission, to gone in such a short time changed the way I see everything. I don’t take time for granted anymore. I value the people in my life more deeply, and I carry the way she lived with me—always giving, always putting others first. I’m still healing, but I keep going. Today, as a freshman at East Tennessee State University, I carry her with me in everything I do. Her strength is the reason I continue working toward my goal of becoming a social worker, so I can be there for others during the hardest moments of their lives—just like she was for me. Cancer took my mom, Serita Carter, from me at 43—but it left me with her strength, and I carry it with me every day.

My name is Jamaya Pelcher, and faith has always been a part of my life—but the moment I needed it most was the moment I struggled with it the hardest. Growing up, I learned early that stability wasn’t something we could always count on. There were nights when the house went dark, and I remember pretending it was normal—like we had just chosen not to turn the lights on. Some days, I didn’t know what we were going to eat. But somehow, my mom always made sure we did. Even if that meant she didn’t. What stayed with me the most wasn’t just what she gave—it was what she gave up. Before she passed, she carried a quiet regret about never going to college, never applying for scholarships, never choosing herself. She spent her life putting others first, making sure we had opportunities she never did. I didn’t fully understand it then, but I do now. And I carry that with me every day. When I lost her in high school, everything I believed in felt shaken. I had grown up in the church, surrounded by faith—singing in choir, praying, believing without question. But grief changed that. I remember praying and feeling like my words weren’t going anywhere. I didn’t understand how someone who gave so much could be taken away. For the first time in my life, my faith didn’t feel strong—it felt distant. And that scared me. But even in that doubt, I didn’t walk away. I kept showing up. I kept singing in choir, even on days my voice felt heavy. I kept going to school, even when it felt like I was carrying more than I knew how to handle. I started to realize that faith isn’t always about feeling strong or having all the answers. Sometimes, it’s just about choosing not to give up—even when you don’t understand. That choice shaped everything that came next. As a first-generation college student, I knew I had to build my future from the ground up. I worked throughout high school, saving everything I could to make college possible. I became involved in programs like TRIO Upward Bound at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, where I was later chosen to mentor other students who were trying to find their way, just like I was. I stayed active in my school community through organizations like the National Black Association and choir, continuing to stay connected to both my culture and my faith—even when it wasn’t easy. Through it all, I realized something: my faith didn’t remove my struggles—it gave me the strength to move through them. Today, as a 19-year-old freshman at East Tennessee State University, I carry both my faith and my mom’s sacrifices with me. She is the reason I refuse to let opportunities pass me by. She is the reason I push myself to keep going, even when things feel uncertain. And she is the reason I want to become a social worker—to be a source of support for others the way she was for me. I still have moments where I question, where I don’t fully understand. But my faith looks different now. It’s not perfect or effortless—it’s resilient. Because in the hardest moment of my life, when everything felt uncertain, my faith didn’t disappear. It stayed. And so did I.

I found TXT around 2020 when I was just starting to get into K-pop, and at first it was honestly just random clips that kept popping up on TikTok and YouTube. I wasn’t sitting there like “I’m going to be a fan today,” it just kind of happened. One minute I’m scrolling, next minute I’ve watched like 10 videos and somehow know all their names. After that, I started watching their music videos, performances, and content more consistently, and it naturally turned into me actually following them instead of just casually watching. Being a MOA, in my opinion, is about keeping things real and positive. It’s easy for fandoms to get competitive or overly serious, but I think one of the most important things is just supporting TXT in a genuine way and not losing the fun in it. Also not acting like the fandom is a battlefield over everything. At the end of the day, we’re all here because we enjoy their music, their personalities, and the energy they bring. My bias is Yeonjun, and he’s also my ult. He stood out to me immediately because of his stage presence. Like, he performs as if the stage is actually his space, not just something he’s standing on. It’s hard not to watch him when he’s on stage because he naturally draws attention without even trying too hard. Off stage, he’s more playful and relaxed, which makes him feel more relatable instead of just “idol mode” all the time. My favorite TXT song is “0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You)” because it feels very emotional but also powerful at the same time. It’s one of those songs where the vocals, the beat, and the message all hit together. Depending on your mood, it can feel comforting or intense, and I think that’s why I keep going back to it. I haven’t seen TXT in concert yet, which is honestly kind of painful to admit as a MOA, but it’s on my list. Watching concert clips is fun, but it also makes me realize how different it must feel in person compared to sitting there watching my phone like it’s a mini concert with buffering issues. My favorite album concept is The Chaos Chapter: FREEZE because it shows a mix of emotions and a more mature storyline. The visuals and themes connect really well with the music, and it feels like they put thought into how everything ties together instead of just focusing on individual songs. I am currently paying for school through financial aid and support from my family. School costs add up more than people expect, so even when things are covered, there’s still a level of stress that comes with managing everything and staying on track. This scholarship would help ease that pressure a lot. It would allow me to focus more on my education instead of constantly thinking about expenses in the background. Even something that seems small financially can make a big difference when you’re trying to stay focused long-term. TXT has influenced me in a very real way, not just as artists I listen to but as something that helped me mentally during a low period. There was a time when I wasn’t feeling motivated or like myself, and their music gave me something consistent to turn to. It sounds simple, but having that kind of comfort actually mattered. I also think about my mom a lot during those times, because she always pushed me to keep going and not give up on myself. Between her encouragement and TXT’s messages about growth and not giving up, it helped me get through that period in a way that stuck with me. Because of that, I approach my education more seriously now. I want to build something stable for my future, not just for the sake of having a career, but so I can also be in a position where I can support others and give back in some way.

Losing my mom was the most significant loss I have experienced, and it is something that has shaped who I am in ways I am still learning to understand. She was not only a parent to me, but also someone I looked up to for strength, perseverance, and determination. One of the things that has stayed with me most is knowing that she once wanted to go back to school but never had the chance to complete her degree. She carried that as a regret throughout her life, and even though she did not get to accomplish that goal, she never stopped pushing forward in other ways. Watching her resilience, even in the face of challenges, left a lasting impression on me. After her passing, I had to learn how to navigate life without someone who had always been such a central part of it. In the beginning, it was difficult to find motivation and structure. Everyday routines felt different, and goals that once seemed simple suddenly felt overwhelming. Over time, however, I began to reflect on what she would have wanted for me. That reflection slowly shifted my mindset from feeling stuck to realizing that I had to keep moving forward, not only for myself but also in a way that honors her memory. This experience changed how I approach my goals. I no longer take opportunities for granted, especially when it comes to education. Seeing that my mom was unable to complete her degree made me more aware of how valuable it is to have access to higher education. It pushed me to become more focused and intentional with my academic path. Instead of putting things off, I try to stay committed and consistent, even when it is challenging. I understand now that every step I take is something that builds toward a future I want to create. Losing my mom also influenced my outlook on life. It taught me that time is not guaranteed and that it is important to appreciate both the big and small moments. I have become more mindful of how I spend my time and who I choose to surround myself with. It also gave me a stronger sense of purpose. I want to succeed not just for myself, but to reflect the values she instilled in me. Her strength continues to motivate me to keep going, even when things feel difficult or uncertain. Overall, this loss has shaped me into someone who values perseverance, education, and growth. It has taught me to turn pain into motivation and to keep pushing toward my goals no matter the obstacles. While losing my mom was incredibly difficult, it also gave me a deeper sense of direction and responsibility. I carry her memory with me in everything I do, and it continues to guide the way I live my life and pursue my future.

Adversity has been a part of my life in different ways, but the moment that impacted me the most was losing my mom during my senior year of high school. She had been diagnosed with leukemia in 2022, and I watched her fight every day with strength. Even knowing what she was going through, nothing could truly prepare me for her passing in November of 2024. At the time, I was trying to finish high school, make plans for college, and hold myself together while everything around me felt like it was falling apart. In the middle of that, I didn’t really have the option to stop. I had responsibilities, goals, and expectations to meet. Some days were harder than others, especially when it felt like the world kept moving forward while I was still trying to process everything. But I kept reminding myself of what my mom wanted for me. She always encouraged me to go to school and build a better future, even when she didn’t get the chance to finish her own education. That became my motivation to keep going. I overcame that adversity by taking things one day at a time. I allowed myself to feel what I needed to feel, but I didn’t let it stop me from continuing forward. I leaned on the support of my Mimi, who stepped in and kept a promise to my mom to take care of me and my brother. I also found strength in knowing that everything I was doing was bigger than just me—it was about honoring my mom and continuing what she started. This experience shaped me into someone who is more resilient, focused, and understanding of others. It taught me that strength doesn’t always look like having everything together—it can look like showing up even when it’s hard. It also gave me a deeper sense of empathy, which is a big reason why I want to pursue a career in social work. I want to be there for others who are going through difficult situations, just like I did. If I could give advice to someone facing a similar situation, I would tell them that it’s okay to not be okay all the time. You don’t have to have everything figured out, and you don’t have to go through it alone. Take things one step at a time, and don’t lose sight of your goals, even when life feels overwhelming. Most importantly, hold on to the people and the reasons that keep you going. Adversity changed my life, but it also gave me purpose. It showed me my strength, even when I didn’t realize I had it. And because of that, I know I can continue moving forward and turn what I’ve been through into something meaningful by the help of this scholarship.

Adversity has been a part of my life in different ways, but the moment that impacted me the most was losing my mom during my senior year of high school. She had been diagnosed with leukemia in 2022, and I watched her fight every day with strength. Even knowing what she was going through, nothing could truly prepare me for her passing in November of 2024. At the time, I was trying to finish high school, make plans for college, and hold myself together while everything around me felt like it was falling apart. In the middle of that, I didn’t really have the option to stop. I had responsibilities, goals, and expectations to meet. Some days were harder than others, especially when it felt like the world kept moving forward while I was still trying to process everything. But I kept reminding myself of what my mom wanted for me. She always encouraged me to go to school and build a better future, even when she didn’t get the chance to finish her own education. That became my motivation to keep going. I overcame that adversity by taking things one day at a time. I allowed myself to feel what I needed to feel, but I didn’t let it stop me from continuing forward. I leaned on the support of my Mimi, who stepped in and kept a promise to my mom to take care of me and my brother. I also found strength in knowing that everything I was doing was bigger than just me—it was about honoring my mom and continuing what she started. This experience shaped me into someone who is more resilient, focused, and understanding of others. It taught me that strength doesn’t always look like having everything together—it can look like showing up even when it’s hard. It also gave me a deeper sense of empathy, which is a big reason why I want to pursue a career in social work. I want to be there for others who are going through difficult situations, just like I did. If I could give advice to someone facing a similar situation, I would tell them that it’s okay to not be okay all the time. You don’t have to have everything figured out, and you don’t have to go through it alone. Take things one step at a time, and don’t lose sight of your goals, even when life feels overwhelming. Most importantly, hold on to the people and the reasons that keep you going. Adversity changed my life, but it also gave me purpose. It showed me my strength, even when I didn’t realize I had it. And because of that, I know I can continue moving forward and turn what I’ve been through into something meaningful.

I am a first-generation college student currently attending East Tennessee State University, and my journey to higher education is deeply personal. Growing up, I watched my mom carry the responsibilities of life without a college degree. One of her biggest regrets was not being able to finish school, but she never let that stop her from encouraging me and my brother to pursue an education. Before she passed, she even tried to go back to school herself, which showed me how much it meant to her. Seeing that effort made a lasting impact on me. When my mom passed away during my senior year of high school, continuing my education became even more important. I knew I wasn’t just doing it for myself anymore—I was doing it for her too. Being a first-generation student already comes with challenges, like figuring things out on your own and stepping into spaces that feel unfamiliar. Losing my mom during that time made it even harder, but it also gave me a stronger sense of purpose. Because of my experiences, I understand how overwhelming college can feel, especially for first-generation students who may not have guidance or support. That’s why I want to inspire others by being honest about my journey. I want people to see that it’s okay to struggle, to not have all the answers, and to still keep going. Sometimes motivation doesn’t come from having everything figured out—it comes from having a reason not to give up. I plan to inspire and motivate other first-generation students by leading through my actions. By staying committed to my education, pushing through challenges, and continuing to grow, I hope to show others that success is possible. I also want to be someone people can come to for support, whether that’s through sharing advice, helping them find resources, or simply listening. I know how much of a difference it makes to feel like someone understands what you’re going through. As someone pursuing a degree in social work, I plan to continue that impact in my career by advocating for students and individuals from backgrounds like mine. I want to help create opportunities and support systems for those who may feel like higher education isn’t meant for them. Representation matters, and I want others to see that someone like them can succeed. My journey is about more than just earning a degree—it’s about fulfilling a dream that my mom didn’t get to finish and turning it into something meaningful. Every step I take forward is a way of honoring her and everything she wanted for me. By continuing to push myself and stay focused on my goals, I hope to inspire other first-generation students to believe in themselves and pursue their education, no matter what obstacles they face.

Mental health has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, even before I fully understood what I was experiencing. Growing up, I faced pressure from different areas of my life—academics, home responsibilities, and work. On top of that, being a Black student in a predominantly white environment came with its own challenges. There were times I felt like I had to work twice as hard, carry myself a certain way, and handle things on my own. Over time, all of that began to take a toll on my mental health. The most difficult moment in my life came when I lost my mother in November of 2024 during my senior year of high school. When she passed, it felt like I lost not only her, but also a part of myself. Grief affected me in ways I didn’t always know how to express, especially while still trying to finish school and move forward into college. Some days, it felt like I was expected to keep going as if everything was normal, even when it wasn’t. That experience opened my eyes to how often people struggle in silence, especially within communities where mental health is not always openly talked about. Because of what I’ve been through, I’ve developed a deep understanding of the importance of mental health support, especially in marginalized communities. I’ve seen how stigma, lack of access, and cultural expectations can make it harder for people to ask for help. As a Black woman, I know how important it is to have spaces where you feel seen, understood, and not judged. That understanding has shaped my beliefs and inspired me to be more open, more aware, and more supportive of others. I plan to use my degree in social work to make a positive impact by providing that kind of support to others. I want to work with individuals who may feel overlooked, unheard, or unsure of where to turn. I want to advocate for better access to mental health resources and be someone who encourages open conversations about mental health, especially in communities where it has often been pushed aside. My goal is not only to help people navigate their struggles, but also to remind them that they are not alone. Outside of my career, I also plan to continue speaking up for what is right. Whether that is through supporting others, raising awareness, or simply being someone people can come to, I want to use my voice in a way that creates change. My experiences have taught me that even small actions—checking on someone, listening, or offering support—can make a bigger difference than we realize. My journey with mental health has shaped who I am, but it has also given me purpose. It has made me more empathetic, more aware, and more determined to help others. Through social work, I want to turn my experiences into something meaningful and use them to create a positive impact in the lives of others, especially those who need it most.

.What makes me different is not just what I’ve been through, but how I choose to show up because of it. As a Black woman who grew up in a single-parent household and experienced the loss of my mother during my senior year of high school, I’ve learned how to carry strength in quiet ways. I don’t always have to say a lot for people to feel my presence—sometimes, it’s in how I keep going, how I treat others, and how I use my voice. Singing has always been a part of who I am. I’ve been singing my whole life—at my church, Foster Chapel Baptist Church, at school, and in groups like women’s choir and ensemble at Gibbs High School. I also had the opportunity to sing in All East during my freshman and senior year. Music has been more than just something I enjoy—it’s been a way for me to express emotions that I don’t always have words for. It’s also how I connect with people, even when I don’t realize it. There have been moments where people have told me that my voice made them feel something—peace, comfort, or even just seen—and those are the moments that remind me that impact doesn’t always have to be loud or obvious. Sometimes, the smallest things, like showing up, being kind, or sharing your gift, can mean everything to someone else who is watching quietly. Losing my mom changed me, but it also made me more aware of how people carry things you can’t always see. Because of that, I try to be intentional with how I treat others. I try to be someone who brings positive energy, who listens, and who creates a space where people feel comfortable. Even when I don’t realize it, I know that the way I carry myself can influence someone else who might be going through something similar. I plan to leverage my uniqueness through my future career in social work. I want to combine my lived experiences, my ability to connect with others, and my understanding of resilience to support people in my community. I know what it feels like to need support, and I want to be someone who can provide that for others—whether through my words, my presence, or simply being there. At the end of the day, I’ve learned that you don’t always know who is watching you or who you’re impacting. But by staying true to who I am, using my voice, and continuing to grow, I know that I can make a difference—sometimes in ways I may never even see.

I didn’t choose social work just as a career—I chose it because of what I’ve lived through. When my mom was diagnosed with leukemia in 2022, my life changed in ways I couldn’t control. I watched her fight every day with strength and resilience, even when things got hard. When she passed away in November of 2024 during my senior year of high school, I was forced to face a level of loss and responsibility that most people my age haven’t experienced. That moment didn’t just shape me—it gave me purpose. Now, as a freshman at East Tennessee State University, I am pursuing a degree in social work because I want to be there for others the way my family and community were there for me. Going through my mom’s illness and loss showed me how important it is to have support, guidance, and someone who truly understands what you’re going through. It also showed me that not everyone has that kind of support, and I want to help change that. My passion for social work comes from understanding what it feels like to struggle and still have to keep moving forward. Some days, it still feels like the world has moved on from my mom’s passing while I’m still learning how to adjust. That feeling has made me more aware of how people carry things that others don’t always see. Because of that, I want to be someone who listens without judgment and supports people through their hardest moments. In my career, I plan to work with families who are dealing with grief, single-parent households, and young people who feel like they have to grow up too fast. I want to create safe spaces where people feel heard, respected, and understood. I also want to advocate for better access to resources in communities that may not always receive the support they need. Whether it’s helping someone navigate loss, connecting them to services, or simply being a consistent source of support, I want my work to make a real difference. Cultural humility is especially important to me because I understand that everyone’s experience is different. No two families go through loss the same way, and no two people cope in the same way. I want to approach every person I work with by listening first, learning from them, and respecting their background, their values, and their story. I believe that being open and willing to learn from others is what allows you to truly help them. Advocacy is also a big part of the impact I want to make. I want to stand up for individuals and families who may not always have a voice, especially in moments when they feel overlooked or unsupported. My own experiences have shown me how important it is to have someone who is willing to speak up and make sure you’re not alone in what you’re going through. I also carry a strong sense of responsibility to my family. My Mimi made a promise to my mom that she would take care of me and my brother, and she has done that every day. Because of that, I feel a responsibility to succeed—not just for myself, but for them. By staying focused on my education and working toward my goals, I’m honoring my mom’s strength and doing my part to make my Mimi proud. To me, embodying a legacy of service means turning my experiences into something that helps others. It means using what I’ve been through not as something that holds me back, but as something that pushes me forward. My goal is to be the kind of social worker who shows up, listens, and makes people feel like they matter. I want my work to reflect compassion, understanding, and strength—because those are the same qualities my mom showed me every day. Through social work, I plan to carry that legacy forward and use it to make a lasting impact in my community.

I didn’t choose my path in social work from a textbook—I chose it from real life. When my mom was diagnosed with leukemia in 2022, everything changed. I watched her fight every day with strength, even when things got hard. She passed away in November of 2024 during my senior year of high school, and that moment forced me to grow up in ways I wasn’t ready for. But it also gave me a clear sense of purpose whether I was ready or not. Now, as a freshman at East Tennessee State University pursuing a degree in social work, my goal is to use my education to support people in my community who are going through the same kinds of challenges I’ve faced. I understand what it feels like to deal with grief, responsibility, and the pressure of moving forward when life doesn’t even feel normal anymore. Some days, it still feels like the world has moved on from my mom while I’m still adjusting, and that perspective is something I carry with me. I want to work with families experiencing loss, single-parent households, and young people who feel like they have to figure everything out on their own. I know how important it is to have someone who listens, understands, and shows up when it matters most. My experiences have given me a level of empathy that goes beyond what can be taught—I’ve lived it. Through my degree, I plan to turn that empathy into action. I want to connect people with resources, provide emotional support, and advocate for those who may not always have a voice. I want to create a space where people feel seen, heard, and supported during some of the hardest times in their lives. I’m also motivated by my family. My Mimi(grandmother) stepped in and kept a promise to my mom to take care of me and my brother, and that kind of love has inspired me to give back. By working hard and staying committed to my goals, I’m not only building my future—I’m honoring my mom and continuing her legacy through the way I help others. My goal is to use my degree to make a real impact in my community. I want to be the person I once needed in my life, and through social work, I know that I can turn my experiences into something that helps others heal and move forward.

My biggest source of support in my educational journey has been my late mother and my Mimi. My mom was diagnosed with leukemia in 2022, and from that moment on, I watched her fight with a kind of strength I will never forget. Even when things were hard, she kept going, and that stayed with me. She passed away in November of 2024 during my senior year of high school, and that loss changed my life. Still, I knew I had to keep going—not just for myself, but for her. I finished high school and continued my education as a freshman at East Tennessee State University, carrying her strength with me every day. My Mimi has been my support system through it all. She made a promise to my mom that she would take care of me and my brother, and she has truly lived up to that. I honor my mom by the way I continue to push forward. She always wanted me to succeed, and that is what drives me, especially on the days when it feels overwhelming. Some days are harder than others, especially when it feels like the world has moved on from her being gone while I’m still learning how to live without her. In those moments, I remind myself that everything I’m doing is part of continuing her legacy. I also honor her by trying to ease the weight on my Mimi. I know she carries a lot, and I want her to be proud and at peace knowing that I’m doing what I’m supposed to do. In a way, working toward my goals is how I take care of her too. By staying focused, doing well in school, and continuing my path, I’m fulfilling not only my own dreams, but my mom’s as well. Her support shaped me into someone who is resilient, determined, and more understanding of others. Going through her illness and loss at such a young age forced me to grow up quickly, but it also gave me a deeper sense of purpose. It showed me how important it is to be there for people during their hardest moments. That is a big reason why I want to go into social work. I want to support others the way my family supported me, and the way I saw people show up for my mom. As I continue working toward my goals, I build on their support by staying consistent and reminding myself why I started. I want to make my mom proud in everything I do, and I want my Mimi to feel secure knowing she kept her promise. Their love and belief in me have been instrumental in shaping who I am. Even though my mom is no longer here, everything she poured into me still lives on. At the end of the day, my success is bigger than just me. It’s for my mom, who fought so hard, and for my Mimi, who continues to hold everything together. That is what drives me to keep going, no matter what, and to become the person they always believed I could be.