I learned from a very early age that I would likely have a predisposition to easily developing addictions. Growing up in a family where substance use was pretty normalized, it was not until I got older I realized that was not a universal experience. Many members of my immediate family were cigarette smokers, and those who weren’t smokers were drinkers. It was not until I was about 13 or 14 years old that it really hit me how badly substance use and abuse can affect a person’s life. A family member very close to me made some very poor decisions that put him in a lose-lose situation. It’s the middle of the night and my mom gets a phone call. My eight-year-old brother is sitting in a police station an hour away by himself waiting to be picked up by a parent or guardian. Now I’m sure you are wondering, “Why is he an hour away at a police station by himself? How did he get there?”, and those are both great questions. Our uncle has battled addiction on and off for my entire life. There have been points where he has gotten sober and stayed that way for a bit, but it typically does not last long. During a period of time when he was sober, my brother asked to spend a Saturday night with him. My mom agreed, and we made the hour-long drive down to where he lived to drop off my little brother. The plan was for them to see a movie, and after that they would go back to our uncle’s apartment and my mom would pick up my brother the next morning. It seemed like a solid plan and my mom was assured there was little room for error. What happens next was far worse than anyone could have planned for. Next thing I know my mom is waking me up saying she needs to go get my brother. I was confused, but agreed. Within the next few hours we learned the whole story. Our uncle had left during the middle of the movie, went to the restroom, and never came back to the theater. When the movie was over and everyone was leaving the theater, my eight-year-old brother starts walking out with them, frantically looking for the adult he had come with. When my uncle was nowhere to be found, my brother sought out the help of an employee. This employee thankfully called the police and let them take over. Our uncle was found in the restroom, unconscious, needle still in his arm. He was arrested immediately on charges of possession of an illegal substance and child endangerment, as well as a slew of other things. For a few years after this my brother was terrified to go anywhere without my mom, and he refused to see our uncle even after he had been released from jail. Watching the way drug use affected not only my uncle, but also had such a negative ripple effect on my little brother, was the first instance that really solidified that I wanted to work in substance abuse counseling. Since then, I’ve felt that if I could make a difference for even one family, or prevent a child from going through the same trauma my brother did, then I would feel I’ve found my calling.

Losing the one who stepped up when others stepped out caused more pain than I knew was possible. I grew up spending almost half of my time with my grandparents, and because of this, I've been called an "old soul" or told I have "old fashioned" ways. Spending time with my grandfather, who I so adoringly called Papa, was one of my favorite pastimes until he fell ill. In 2017, my grandfather was diagnosed with stage 4 prostate cancer and was given only months to live. He elected to join an experimental cancer treatment to try to do what he could to prolong his time with us and help cancer research advance. After two years of treatment, it had only slowed the growth of the tumors and eventually, my grandfather knew he was only prolonging the inevitable. He opted to stop treatment and hire a hospice nurse so he could live out his final days at home with his family. After this, cancer quickly spread to other organs, and eventually his bones. I'll never forget the day he asked the hospice nurse, "If I stop eating, how much longer will it take for me to die?". She responded gently, but with the truth, and he seemed relieved. He was tired of fighting. Towards the end, the once early-bird-who-was-up-and-at-'em-before-the-sun-was-up, was bed-ridden and could barely speak. The last few days were filled with the sound of the morphine drip and the death-rattle breaths that would eventually be his last. His last day with us was October 10, 2019. This was the man who had helped me pull my first loose tooth out. The one who had taught me to tie my sneakers. It was my grandparents who taught me to swim in the inflatable pool that once sat in their backyard. All these milestone achievements and they were the ones around to see it. With a single mom who was always working, and a dad who wasn't around much, my grandparents took me under their wing with zero hesitations. Watching someone so special to me turn into someone who seemed like a stranger was harder than I could have ever prepared myself for. My grandmother didn't want me to remember him like that, and for that reason, I wasn't allowed to go to the house during the final weeks when he was at his worst. I never got to chance to say goodbye to him in person and that regret is something I'll carry with me until the end of time. However, losing someone so important lit a fire in me that I had never known was there before. Once the reality sank in that my Papa wouldn't physically be around to see me graduate college, get married, buy my first home, have a family, etc., I knew that I had to do everything in my power to make him proud. He had made such a huge impact on me during my developmental years and it was because of this that I found strength in his loss instead of grief. As a first-generation college student from a tiny, middle-of-nowhere town in Vermont, I truly never thought I would make it this far. Due to a lack of financial support, opportunity, and faith in myself, I thought for a long time that higher education was not in my cards, but because of the continued support from my family, and my grandparents especially, I've finally made it to my final year of college. The strength that my Papa displayed every day before, and even after his diagnosis, was what I reflected on when I found the FIGHT in myself. I chose to start putting myself first in every way and putting my all into each day so that I could live life to the fullest. I don't think the reality that life is as fragile as it is set in for me until I lost my grandfather. This was the first major loss in my life and it changed the way I went about things afterward. Finding the FIGHT within myself has not only helped me overcome grief and loss, but has also shown me the strength and perseverance that I didn't know lived within me.