When I was a young teenager, ALS stole my father. Today, I am studying to be a music therapist. I promise, these things go together in a beautiful and slightly messy way. My dad, Michael Halverson, was a loving father, an avid sports fan, and a Buffalo Wild Wings enthusiast. In 2015, a couple of days before the start of my eighth-grade year, we received news that would change our lives forever. "It's ALS," he said shakily over the phone. I had never heard of ALS before this, but I quickly found out the disease was terminal; it was only a matter of time before I would lose my dad. It should be noted that a few years before this diagnosis, my parents divorced. My dad remarried a charming woman who would later reveal her true colors. She mistreated me and my sisters and neglected my dad as his illness progressed. I remember her once saying she wished he would fall down the stairs and die. These are the things that stick with you over a decade later. This woman kept my father from me and stole precious time for which my heart still aches. In addition to ALS, my dad developed frontotemporal dementia. He quickly became a shell of himself, deteriorating right before our eyes. My father, who once loved sports, amusement parks, and good food, was now slow, short of breath, and weak. His memory was beginning to fail him, and he would choke whenever he tried to eat or drink. Seven short months after his diagnosis, my father was rushed to hospice with 48 hours to live. My dad contracted influenza and pneumonia from his new wife, and his body could not fight anymore. "I just spoke on the phone with him. He told me he loved me. He was just here", I thought to myself. Visiting my dad in hospice was a shock. He lay there, eyes closed and lifeless. I was blessed to have some time alone with him later that day. I remembered someone telling me that even if a dying person could not speak with their words, they could communicate by squeezing hands. That is exactly what I did. I grabbed my father's frail hand, and he would squeeze my hand in response. Through this, I could feel that a flicker of his spirit was still there. I mentioned that I am studying music therapy. This is the point at which that becomes relevant. The last thing I did with my dad was sing to him while holding his hand. I sang his favorites, songs from my childhood, songs that he used to sing at karaoke parties. Minutes later, for the last time, my dad opened his eyes, raised his arms to the sky, and embraced me. I'd sang and performed for years up to that point, but it was then that I understood the power of music. He would die a few hours later. I felt at peace knowing I had that final moment with him. I knew then that I wanted to use music to reach people and make the world a better place. After my stepmom took all of my dad's money he'd saved for us, I knew school would be difficult, but I knew my dad would want me to go after my dreams. That is exactly what I am doing today. Being able to finish school without additional financial barriers will help me achieve my goals, honor my dad's life, and make lasting changes in the lives of those around me. Thank you for listening to my story.