“How many siblings do you have?” It’s just a question, but I always pause to think whenever I'm asked. Sometimes I say two, sometimes I say three. It’s an objective question, there should be one clear, concise answer. But it’s hard to answer truthfully without choking up, so sometimes I lie if I want the conversation to end semi-comfortably. It’s not right and it’s not fair, but after experiencing so much pain, you learn how to protect yourself.  My name is McKenna and I’m originally from Saint Francis Kansas, a tiny town in Kansas’ corner. I’m the youngest of four, with three older brothers. Tyson is closest to my age, Tiernan is the second oldest, and Foster is the oldest. Foster is technically my half-brother, my mom had him with her ex-husband, but he has always just been my brother Fozzy to me. He’d leave in the summers to live with his dad and return during the school year to live with us. Since he was so much older than us, that routine didn’t last long, he went to college while the rest of us were still in grade school and high school. I got used to cherishing the time I had to see him because as he progressed in school, he couldn’t come home as often. On a Sunday in September of my senior year of high school, I woke up to a cop knocking on our front door. He promptly asked me to get my parents, anxiety filled my body as I walked to my parents' room to wake them. I instantly fell to the ground when I overheard him telling my parents the news. Foster, who was attending Chiropractic school in Kansas City, was lost to gun violence. My mom’s screams filled every inch of the house yet I couldn’t hear anything, a great sensation of nothingness ran through my body. I swam through denial. I grabbed my phone that had fallen and started trying to call him, text him, anything to get him to answer me. He didn’t answer. I don’t remember how or when, but I stood up and braced myself to tell Tyson in person while my mom called Tiernan. I think what trips me up when I’m asked how many siblings I have is the tense. Do I speak in the past tense or the present tense? I’ll always have three brothers that fact doesn’t change. But what happens when I pass him in age? Do I still refer to him as my oldest brother? I was 17 when I lost him, I’m now 20, but he’ll always be 26. He’s the most incredible person in my life, yet he is no longer in it. It’s hard to say he “was” anything because, to me, he is and always will be such an integral part of my life.  My brother’s loss was incredibly formative in the person I am today. This kind of loss teaches you to cherish those you have and to love wholeheartedly. In my case, I didn’t just gain life lessons; I now have the privilege of taking care of Fozzy’s best friend; his dog Ace. Ace is one of the most precious things my brother left me. So yes, I have three brothers. One is no longer with us but I feel him every day in fuzzy hugs and slobbery kisses. I’m different than I used to be, but I’ve grown to accept it. I love all of my siblings more than they could know, one of them is just in heaven.

On September 11, 2021, we had a volleyball tournament. I repeated my prayer before each match. “God, please soothe this anxiety and enable me to be the best version of myself.” We ended up winning the tournament and I struggled to fall asleep that night, winner’s high keeping me awake. September 12th was a different day, however. I woke up at 7:27 am to three knocks on the front door. Instantly, my heart dropped into my stomach; I knew it wasn’t good news. I peered through the peephole to see a cop. He asked me to get my parents. I obeyed and life instantaneously seemed to collapse. I lost my brother to gun violence. My brother’s loss put me into a spiral of religious questioning. I couldn’t understand why God would allow this to happen to someone as wonderful as my brother. I stopped going to church, youth group, and stopped praying. After a few weeks, I went to youth group, hoping to find consolation. That day, youth group was significantly different; there were missionaries. Everyone got paired with a missionary and I started bawling, explaining everything to my paired missionary. She asked if I had forgiven my brother’s murderers. I was still in the bulk of grieving and forgiveness hadn’t crossed my mind. “Well, McKenna,” she says, “do you know what Hell is?” I said yes and she asked me to describe it. She pointed out the bible verse describing Hell and told me to read it. “That doesn’t sound very nice does it?” she said. “If you don’t forgive those people, you will burn in Hell.” Over two years later, the memory still hurts, but I have forgiven her. I truly do understand where she was coming from. I used to boil over it, but I now prefer to see it as a call from God that I need to work on forgiveness. When you lose someone in the manner I lost my brother it’s easy to crave some sort of revenge or at the very least an apology. But I remind myself that time on Earth is fleeting, these feelings are temporary, and someday I’ll reunite with my brother. The first night I prayed again, I asked God to let me hear my brother’s voice again and I won’t ever doubt His presence again. Afterward, I had a dream that felt too real to be a subconscious coincidence. It was my brother, we were sitting in our backyard, and I was crying. “Why are you crying Kenner?” he said. “I miss you and this isn’t real.” He hugged me and said “I’m real. I love you and I hate seeing you sad. Please don’t cry, I’m happy here.” He told me, with his cheeky smile. I never questioned Him since; I am faithful and I now know my brother’s death was not at all God’s will. I’d be lying if I said I have wholeheartedly forgiven my brother’s murderers, but I hope someday through God’s grace I can forgive them. This opportunity is meaningful to me because I have taken everything life has thrown my way in stride and have made the best of every situation I’ve been in. I’m currently in my second year of college hoping to be a family doctor in a rural area of Kansas so I can have a relationship with my patients in and out of the hospital. I’m solely responsible for financing my education so any scholarship I obtain makes a substantial difference. I believe I exemplify that through Christ, you have the strength to overcome anything.

I was doing schoolwork in the doctor’s office until the nurse told us the next patient was ready. The doctor I shadowed said that she called 30 minutes prior, complaining about extreme nausea and dizziness upon movement. We went into the room and I recognized her faintly, but I wasn’t able to quite put my finger on it. She looked like misery personified. Ultimately, she was diagnosed with BPPV, Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo. The doctor performed an adjustment on her to reposition her ear crystals and she was out of the hospital. This situation in and of itself was not necessarily special, this past summer I was able to experience extremely interesting stuff, but it was the next day that completely shifted my future career goals. I’m originally from a small town in Kansas where everyone knows everyone, the community feels like a family, and the population is 1,287 (a number that is steadily decreasing). Growing up, I was surrounded by different types of doctors in my family, and witnessing their impact on people influenced me to go down a similar path. I had always known I wanted to be a doctor, not just any doctor though, I wanted to be a neurologist. There were two reasons for that initially: 1) I lost my grandpa while I was in junior high to brain cancer, and while it was devastating, it made me long for a career in which I could help people like him. 2) I wanted to get as far away from my small town as possible and I knew specialized doctors always live in the cities. Originally, when I asked to shadow at the hospital in my small town over the summer, I (admittedly) was only thinking about how great it would look on my resume. However, it quickly helped me realize I wanted something different. The morning after that woman came in I was teaching swim lessons at the pool and was in charge of the youngest children working on their backfloat. I let go of one little girl after I felt that she was under control and instantly heard cheers coming from where the parents were sitting. I looked up briefly and saw it was the woman who was in the hospital. Her daughter was the one who had finally overcome her fear of being let go in the water and she looked like a completely different person than the woman I saw just a day prior. It was then that I realized I wanted to be a doctor who could see people not only within the hospital but outside of it as well. The sense of community you get from living in a small town is a feeling that is priceless and incomparable to anything else. It made me remember my mom, and how she had to give birth to me 40 minutes away from our little hometown because our hospital did not have the facilities for childbirth. I want to return to a rural area to become a family doctor so I can improve the healthcare disparity that rural areas experience and be a resource for women in a community because female physicians are few and far between. I learned that I want to have a relationship with all my patients and know them for more than just their ailments. I’m still fascinated by neurology, but I realized that I care far more for living in a community where patients aren’t just patients; they feel like a family.