The past fifteen years on Christmas, we get a card from a man who lives on High Street in Denver. Inside is the classic family picture and a note wishing our family Merry Christmas. I never recognized the people on the card. I didn't know their names or how they knew us. He was a tall, goofy, curly haired man I'd never seen before. Every year without fail there was a handwritten letter inside to my parents asking how the Meyer family was doing and giving an update on his own life. After over ten years of wondering who he was, my mom explained that he was my deceased brother’s cardiologist. That's when it hit me. This man who had attempted to save my brother's life over 10 years ago was still wondering how my parents were. The moment I realized that passionate doctors don’t just save lives but leave impacts. There's a sound that marks the beginning of most lives. A baby's first breath, the first cry, the scared noise of life beginning. When my brother entered the world, his life started with the absence of a stable heart. My brother's life ended too soon, 15 years ago, at three days old. I never heard him talk or knew his favorite things. The black and white pictures up on the walls, necklaces filled with ashes. Yet, as I started to grow up, I realized something missing. The first time grief sunk in was in my third grade art class. The assignment was to draw a family portrait. I started drawing our family of five -- my parents, older brother, younger sister, and me. After weeks of coloring, my artwork was completed. I stared at my work but something didn’t feel right. I knew my dead brother Will was missing, but how should I include him? I knew that monarch butterflies was our family symbol for my brother, so I drew on a piece of paper the best butterfly I could and taped in on. My picture was complete, the missing feeling went away. Framed in my house, this serves as a reminder that Will is still present even when he can't be seen. Last summer, I had an experience that shaped my future. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse. To get a jumpstart and an idea of the nursing world, I received my CNA by completing night classes during junior year. It was a great experience, but I found myself wanting something more. I decided to reach out to the man on the Christmas card. He works as a cardiologist at Children’s Hospital in Denver, so I was confident that he knew some of the best nurses. I had the opportunity to shadow a NICU cardiology nurse. This experience ended all questions of where my nursing career would lead. To work on the floor where my brother once laid, take care of sick babies like my brother, and help newborns by giving them your best efforts for a chance at life. I loved every minute of it, and I just know I'll end up in the same place, as an NICU nurse. To have a job that isn’t working from 9-5, 5 days a week, but something that means more, something rewarding. So after grieving the loss of a family member, which greatly impacted my life, it will be my goal to continue to make a caring impact and aspire to help others. I will be the light in others’ lives because I know what it's like for the light to have been taken out of mine.

The past fifteen years on Christmas, we get a card from a man who lives on High Street in Denver. Inside is the classic family picture and a note wishing our family Merry Christmas. I never recognized the people on the card. I didn't know their names or how they knew us. He was a tall, goofy, curly haired man I'd never seen before. Every year without fail there was a handwritten letter inside to my parents asking how the Meyer family was doing and giving an update on his own life. After over ten years of wondering who he was, my mom explained that he was my deceased brother’s cardiologist. That's when it hit me. This man who had attempted to save my brother's life over 10 years ago was still wondering how my parents were. The moment I realized that passionate doctors don’t just save lives but leave impacts. There's a sound that marks the beginning of most lives. A baby's first breath, the first cry, the scared noise of life beginning. When my brother entered the world, his life started with the absence of a stable heart. My brother's life ended too soon, 15 years ago, at three days old. I never heard him talk or knew his favorite things. The black and white pictures up on the walls, necklaces filled with ashes. Yet, as I started to grow up, I realized something missing. The first time grief sunk in was in my third grade art class. The assignment was to draw a family portrait. I started drawing our family of five -- my parents, older brother, younger sister, and me. After weeks of coloring, my artwork was completed. I stared at my work but something didn’t feel right. I knew my dead brother Will was missing, but how should I include him? I knew that monarch butterflies was our family symbol for my brother, so I drew on a piece of paper the best butterfly I could and taped in on. My picture was complete, the missing feeling went away. Framed in my house, this serves as a reminder that Will is still present even when he can't be seen. Last summer, I had an experience that shaped my future. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse. To get a jumpstart and an idea of the nursing world, I received my CNA by completing night classes during junior year. It was a great experience, but I found myself wanting something more. I decided to reach out to the man on the Christmas card. He works as a cardiologist at Children’s Hospital in Denver, so I was confident that he knew some of the best nurses. I had the opportunity to shadow a NICU cardiology nurse. This experience ended all questions of where my nursing career would lead. To work on the floor where my brother once laid, take care of sick babies like my brother, and help newborns by giving them your best efforts for a chance at life. I loved every minute of it, and I just know I'll end up in the same place, as an NICU nurse. To have a job that isn’t working from 9-5, 5 days a week, but something that means more, something rewarding. So after grieving the loss of a family member, which greatly impacted my life, it will be my goal to continue to make a caring impact and aspire to help others. I will be the light in others’ lives because I know what it's like for the light to have been taken out of mine.

The past fifteen years on Christmas, we get a card from a man who lives on High Street in Denver. Inside is the classic family picture and a note wishing our family Merry Christmas. I never recognized the people on the card. I didn't know their names or how they knew us. He was a tall, goofy, curly haired man I'd never seen before. Every year without fail there was a handwritten letter inside to my parents asking how the Meyer family was doing and giving an update on his own life. After over ten years of wondering who he was, my mom explained that he was my deceased brother’s cardiologist. That's when it hit me. This man who had attempted to save my brother's life over 10 years ago was still wondering how my parents were. The moment I realized that passionate doctors don’t just save lives but leave impacts. There's a sound that marks the beginning of most lives. A baby's first breath, the first cry, the scared noise of life beginning. When my brother entered the world, his life started with the absence of a stable heart. My brother's life ended too soon, 15 years ago, at three days old. I never heard him talk or knew his favorite things. The black and white pictures up on the walls, necklaces filled with ashes. Yet, as I started to grow up, I realized something missing. The first time grief sunk in was in my third grade art class. The assignment was to draw a family portrait. I started drawing our family of five -- my parents, older brother, younger sister, and me. After weeks of coloring, my artwork was completed. I stared at my work but something didn’t feel right. I knew my dead brother Will was missing, but how should I include him? I knew that monarch butterflies was our family symbol for my brother, so I drew on a piece of paper the best butterfly I could and taped in on. My picture was complete, the missing feeling went away. Framed in my house, this serves as a reminder that Will is still present even when he can't be seen. Last summer, I had an experience that shaped my future. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse. To get a jumpstart and an idea of the nursing world, I received my CNA by completing night classes during junior year. It was a great experience, but I found myself wanting something more. I decided to reach out to the man on the Christmas card. He works as a cardiologist at Children’s Hospital in Denver, so I was confident that he knew some of the best nurses. I had the opportunity to shadow a NICU cardiology nurse. This experience ended all questions of where my nursing career would lead. To work on the floor where my brother once laid, take care of sick babies like my brother, and help newborns by giving them your best efforts for a chance at life. I loved every minute of it, and I just know I'll end up in the same place, as an NICU nurse. To have a job that isn’t working from 9-5, 5 days a week, but something that means more, something rewarding. So after grieving the loss of a family member, which greatly impacted my life, it will be my goal to continue to make a caring impact and aspire to help others. I will be the light in others’ lives because I know what it's like for the light to have been taken out of mine.