For as long as I can remember, my Dad struggled with addiction. My hero's Achilles heel was alcohol, and his battle against it was the burden I bore on my back. At eight years old, my Dad lost his job as the principal of my elementary school for drinking on campus. After spending time in a rehabilitation facility, he struggled to find employment as anything but a city bus driver, which only added to my family’s financial distress. As a result, my parents decided to relocate our family to Miami for a fresh start. But no matter where we ran, his addiction followed like an unrelenting shadow. The sudden change in cities, friends, and schools overwhelmed me, but the burden I carried only got heavier when my Dad relapsed. Not only was I worried about being the new kid at school, but I was also scared about losing my dad to his disease. As I struggled to shoulder the weight I was already carrying, my ninth-grade fall brought a litany of events that made it increasingly difficult to balance. Within months, my Dad lost his job, became homeless, was arrested, hospitalized, and eventually sentenced to a court-mandated rehabilitation program. At the time, I felt that even the weight of the heavens had to be lighter than what I was holding. Homework, studying, and scholastic achievement felt irrelevant as I struggled to keep my world squarely on my back. Over the next three years, my Dad went in and out of varying states of sobriety, unemployment, and homelessness. Nevertheless, I soldiered on, hopeful that my normalcy would someday return. My Dad died at the end of my junior year of high school. Despite the indescribable pain this reality has brought me, my journey through strife and grief has taught me a great deal about myself and what I am capable of. I learned that I am not defined by my burdens but, rather, shaped by my experiences. My experience with familial addiction has shaped me into a kind, compassionate person who is eager to make a positive impact on the world around me. I learned that even when faced with seemingly insurmountable adversity, my enduring strength and unwavering resilience will allow me to persist. My journey through grief has provided me the determination and fearlessness to conquer whatever challenges life may throw at me next. Perhaps most importantly though, I learned through sharing my story with others that my experiences are not totally unique. One in ten children have an alcoholic parent, and I have the ability to use my experiences, empathy, and knowledge as a catalyst for positive change. My hope is that through my pursuit of a college education, I can use my skills to create a lasting impact on communities and families that suffer from addiction. I now know that this weight will never disappear. My dad will never recover–my normalcy will never return. But I no longer hold my world on my back; I hold it in my heart, my Dad's memory fueling it all.

Jack Terry's story is a incredible example of overcoming adversity while persevering through life's obstacles. Like Jack, I have suffered from the loss of a loved one, albeit in a different context. He is an inspiration to all of those fighting grief, challenges, and looking for hope in the future. My father fought addiction since I was 5 years old, and he lost his battle to it 7 months ago. Leaving my mother a widow to 7 children, our new normal has been far from easy. However, with inspirations such as Jack Terry, I have learned that adversity is inevitable. The struggles that people face every day are unimaginable, and my grief is just one example. However, through Jack's story, I have also learned that hardship is not forever. While I will carry my father's memory for the rest of my life, I can embrace his death as an opportunity for me to continue his legacy. Jack Terry's journey through a concentration camp, immigration, college, and more are just some examples of life going on. While at times the burdens of our past feel too heavy to even move, I now know that that weight can be used as an incentive to pursue fulfilling goals. My father devoted his life to being a teacher, as did my mother, and they were adamant in raising a successful next generation. He would spend his weekends donating food to the homeless, and visiting addicts in rehabilitation centers, to provide a similar voice to them. He was in and out of rehab himself, but he never failed as a father-he taught me more about life, love, and purpose than anyone I know. To keep him alive, I hope to continue his legacy as I reeducate the public on the battles of addiction. A seemingly "dirty" disease that people view as a choice is actually a chronic disorder that millions of people suffer from. Addiction is painful, to both the addicts themselves and the people around them. My father was never proud of his disease, but he used it as a chance for people to learn more about what comes with it. I hope to continue educating the public on the topic, while transforming the negative bias society has placed around it. Through people like Jack Terry, we know it is important that people tell your story when you are not around to do it yourself; I hope to be that person for my father. With the help of the Jack Terry Memorial Scholarship, I am hopeful that I can continue to tell the world about my father, help my mother pay for college, and further my education so I can cultivate my knowledge. And, in doing so, use the adversity I have faced as an incentive; that less children every year have to lose their parent to the horrors of addiction.

My 13th birthday. August 21st. A beautiful, warm, sunny day, the last week of summer. But I wasn’t dwelling on the weather. I was wondering if my father would drink. I knew he was an alcoholic, despite his past rehab experience that only seemed to work for a month after his departure. It would have been a perfect birthday. But my father still drank. My 14th birthday. Still the last week of summer. Still a beautiful day outside. But again, I wasn’t worried about the clouds or the way the wind blew. I was still dwelling over if my father would drink or not. He did. My 15th birthday. The same as the others: bright and warm. My father had gone to rehab again that same year, and I was very hopeful that this would be THE birthday. The best one. The one where he didn’t drink. My father relapsed one month before. On August 21st, he drank. I’ve never had a good birthday before. I always thought that it was just because birthdays sucked, that they never turned out how you wanted them too. But I’ve realized that most people’s birthdays are pretty great. Because the people in their life care about them enough to make it like that. My father is not one of those people. He couldn’t stop his addiction for 24 hours. 24 hours on the day that celebrated me. Did he not love me enough? Was I not a good enough daughter? I battled these thoughts for years, as I dreaded the coming of August 21st, a day I should be looking forward to. All because of someone who was supposed to care. Or at least pretend too. But he couldn’t. I’m going to have my 16th birthday soon. I’m sure my dad will drink. It won’t be any different, and I don’t expect it to; I’m all too used to it. But one day, I will be excited for August 21st. Because I won’t choose to let him or his choices ruin it. I have learned to not let one bad variable influence my entire life. My life is not my father's, and I intend to prove that by pursuing my goals and strengthening my relationships; something that he never did. One day I will have people in my life that are different; ones that care about me and help me shape my goals. My father could never do that either. This year might not be the year I am excited for my birthday. But every August 21st, I get a little closer. Someday, it will happen. When I have people in my life that replace him. People that make the day about me. Something that my father could never do.