I am a woman who has learned to rise from ashes and call it purpose. My journey into higher education at this stage of life is not a detour; it is destiny catching up with me. Like Debra S. Jackson, I know what it means to return when the world thinks it is too late. At 39, I chose to begin again—not because the road was easy, but because the calling was undeniable. My story has not been without storms. I started as an electrician, then became a forklift driver, before transitioning into scrubs. In 2020, I became a Licensed Practical Nurse, inspired by my mother's 15 years of service as an LPN. Days before my exit exam, I buried her. Later, while pursuing my RN, I buried my husband, whose life was cut short by unsafe dialysis practices. Those moments tried to silence me, but grief became a teacher. A professor's words—"You were put here to fix what is not always visible"—echoed in my spirit and became my charge. Those losses reshaped my values. They taught me compassion that textbooks cannot teach, and resilience no lecture could prepare me for. They taught me that nursing is not just science—it is ministry, advocacy, and the art of holding broken people together with both hands and heart. My patients and my students do not just need medicine; they need to be seen, heard, and reminded that they matter. As a high school nurse, I treat asthma, diabetes, and daily crises, but I also hold space for fear, anxiety, and unspoken pain. As a critical care nurse, I fight for life when every minute matters. Both roles remind me that healthcare is about more than survival—it is about restoring dignity. And that is the value I carry into my graduate education: the belief that every life deserves equity, hope, and a chance to thrive. My dream as a Family Nurse Practitioner is to create a community health and life skills center that extends beyond the clinic walls. A place where students and families receive not only care but also education—where prevention is prioritized, chronic illness is managed with compassion, and mental health is not ignored. I want to mentor young women, showing them that even when life interrupts their plans, second chances are real, and their story still matters. This scholarship is more than financial help; it is a partnership in legacy. It affirms that resilience is worth investing in, that women like me who return later in life can still shift the future of healthcare. With this support, I will continue the work of transforming loss into leadership, pain into purpose, and education into impact. Like Debra S. Jackson, I believe that second chances are not only possible—they are powerful.

I chose to pursue a degree in healthcare because it is the intersection of my personal story, my calling to serve, and my vision for a healthier future for my community. Healthcare is not simply a career choice—it is a lifelong commitment to healing, advocacy, and leadership. My journey into this field began with my mother, who worked as a Licensed Practical Nurse for 15 years. Her dedication showed me early on what it means to serve others with compassion and skill. But it was the combination of personal trials and professional experiences that solidified my decision to build a life in healthcare. After earning my Licensed Practical Nurse certification in 2020, I advanced to become a Registered Nurse and later completed my Bachelor of Science in Nursing. Along the way, I faced significant obstacles, including the devastating loss of my husband due to unsafe medical practices. That tragedy could have derailed my education and career, but instead it deepened my resolve. I realized I wanted to be a part of changing healthcare from the inside out—to ensure patients are cared for not only with competence but also with safety, equity, and compassion. My education and career are not only personal goals; they are my way of transforming loss into leadership. Being a woman in healthcare gives me a unique perspective and responsibility. Women historically have been both caregivers and advocates, often leading from positions where their voices were minimized or overlooked. Yet our contributions are vital to shaping policies, practices, and innovations that reflect the realities of diverse patients and families. As a female nurse, I bring resilience, empathy, and determination to the forefront of my practice. These qualities are not weaknesses; they are strengths that empower me to connect with patients, advocate for underserved populations, and lead with both head and heart. Currently, I serve as a high school nurse, where I manage chronic conditions like asthma and diabetes while also providing emotional support for students navigating stress, trauma, and inequities. In this role, I see firsthand how health is shaped not only by biology but also by environment, education, and access. My students remind me daily why diversity and inclusivity in healthcare leadership are so important. They need providers who reflect their realities, advocate for their needs, and push for systemic change. As I pursue my goal of becoming a Family Nurse Practitioner, I envision expanding my impact beyond individual patient care into community health initiatives. I hope to create school- and community-based programs focused on preventative care, mental health support, and chronic illness education. I want to mentor young women who aspire to healthcare careers, showing them that their voice and presence are needed in this field. By combining clinical expertise with advocacy, I will work to dismantle barriers that have historically excluded women and marginalized communities from full participation in healthcare systems. I have chosen healthcare because it allows me to embody both compassion and leadership. As a woman in this field, I am determined to bring strength, vision, and inclusivity to my work. My mission is not only to heal but also to inspire—proving that women in healthcare are not just participants, but leaders who shape the future of medicine and community wellness.

I chose to pursue a degree in healthcare because it is the intersection of my personal story, my calling to serve, and my vision for a healthier future for my community. Healthcare is not simply a career choice—it is a lifelong commitment to healing, advocacy, and leadership. My journey into this field began with my mother, who worked as a Licensed Practical Nurse for 15 years. Her dedication showed me early on what it means to serve others with compassion and skill. But it was the combination of personal trials and professional experiences that solidified my decision to build a life in healthcare. After earning my Licensed Practical Nurse certification in 2020, I advanced to become a Registered Nurse and later completed my Bachelor of Science in Nursing. Along the way, I faced significant obstacles, including the devastating loss of my husband due to unsafe medical practices. That tragedy could have derailed my education and career, but instead it deepened my resolve. I realized I wanted to be a part of changing healthcare from the inside out—to ensure patients are cared for not only with competence but also with safety, equity, and compassion. My education and career are not only personal goals; they are my way of transforming loss into leadership. Being a woman in healthcare gives me a unique perspective and responsibility. Women historically have been both caregivers and advocates, often leading from positions where their voices were minimized or overlooked. Yet our contributions are vital to shaping policies, practices, and innovations that reflect the realities of diverse patients and families. As a female nurse, I bring resilience, empathy, and determination to the forefront of my practice. These qualities are not weaknesses; they are strengths that empower me to connect with patients, advocate for underserved populations, and lead with both head and heart. Currently, I serve as a high school nurse, where I manage chronic conditions like asthma and diabetes while also providing emotional support for students navigating stress, trauma, and inequities. In this role, I see firsthand how health is shaped not only by biology but also by environment, education, and access. My students remind me daily why diversity and inclusivity in healthcare leadership are so important. They need providers who reflect their realities, advocate for their needs, and push for systemic change. As I pursue my goal of becoming a Family Nurse Practitioner, I envision expanding my impact beyond individual patient care into community health initiatives. I hope to create school- and community-based programs focused on preventative care, mental health support, and chronic illness education. I want to mentor young women who aspire to healthcare careers, showing them that their voice and presence are needed in this field. By combining clinical expertise with advocacy, I will work to dismantle barriers that have historically excluded women and marginalized communities from full participation in healthcare systems. I have chosen healthcare because it allows me to embody both compassion and leadership. As a woman in this field, I am determined to bring strength, vision, and inclusivity to my work. My mission is not only to heal but also to inspire—proving that women in healthcare are not just participants, but leaders who shape the future of medicine and community wellness.

Some people choose nursing. In my case, nursing chose me—through loss, resilience, and the example of a strong mother whose footsteps I now follow. I did not take the traditional path into healthcare. Before nursing, I worked in trades like electrical work and forklift operation—jobs that taught me grit, problem-solving, and the value of hard, honest work. But my heart kept pulling me toward something more deeply connected to people. That pull became a clear direction when I saw firsthand the difference a skilled, compassionate nurse could make—not only for patients but also for their families. My greatest influence came from my mother, who was an LPN for 15 years. I watched her balance long shifts, ongoing learning, and family responsibilities with grace and unwavering commitment. When she passed away the week before my LPN exit exam, the grief was almost enough to make me give up. But remembering her belief in me gave me the strength to push through and graduate. That moment became one of the most defining turning points in my life—it showed me that nursing is not only a profession but also a legacy I carry forward in her honor. Life tested me again when I lost my husband to unsafe practices at a dialysis center while I was in the middle of my RN program. I was suddenly a single mother to three children, holding the weight of grief while trying to hold onto my dreams. There were days I wanted to walk away from school entirely, but my instructor told me, “You were put here to fix what is not always visible.” Those words became my anchor. I realized that my pain could be turned into purpose. I would become the kind of nurse who not only treats symptoms but also advocates fiercely for safety, quality, and dignity in care. My professional journey since then has been both challenging and rewarding. I have worked as a critical care nurse at night and as a school nurse during the day so I could remain close to my children. In each role, I have seen the broad impact nurses have—not only in saving lives but in educating, empowering, and advocating for individuals and communities. These experiences have reinforced my belief that nursing is where my skills, values, and purpose intersect. Pursuing my BSN and eventually my MSN as a Family Nurse Practitioner is not just about career advancement—it’s about equipping myself to serve at the highest level possible. I want to provide comprehensive care, especially to underserved populations, and mentor other nurses just as I have been mentored. I know the road ahead will not be easy; I am no stranger to balancing work, education, and family responsibilities. But I am driven by the knowledge that my journey is bigger than me—it is about every patient whose life I can touch and every nurse I can inspire. Rose Browne’s story resonates deeply with me because I see parallels in her dedication to her family, her academic pursuits, and her service to others. Like her, I have juggled motherhood, full-time work, and nursing education, refusing to let life’s challenges derail my goals. Receiving this scholarship would not only honor her legacy but also allow me to carry forward the very values she lived by: perseverance, compassion, and excellence in nursing. Nursing is my profession, but more than that, it is my purpose. Every chapter of my life—every hardship, every triumph—has prepared me to serve, to lead, and to heal. Just as Rose Browne inspired her children through her example, I hope to inspire my own through mine.

My nursing journey didn’t begin in a classroom. It started in the quiet ache of loss, in the mirror of grief, and in the silent prayers of a woman trying to remember who she was while the world around her fell apart. I am not a traditional student. I am a widow, a mother of three, a full-time nurse, and a full-time graduate student. I’ve spent more nights than I can count writing care plans after tucking my children into bed and clocking out from a 12-hour shift. But I do it because I was called—not just into nursing, but into purpose. I became a Licensed Practical Nurse (LPN) in 2020, following in the footsteps of my mother, who served as an LPN for 15 years. But the timing was cruel. She passed away the day after Mother’s Day, just before my exit exam. I earned my license but didn’t step into the field immediately. Grief had swallowed my sense of direction. A year later, I found the strength to return and began my Registered Nurse (RN) program. Midway through, I lost my husband due to unsafe care at a dialysis center. I sat in my car after class one day, ready to quit. But one of my professors told me, “You were put here to fix what is not always visible.” That moment was my turning point. That was my “aha.” I realized that nursing wasn’t just a job for me—it was how I would heal. Not only I but others. I knew then that I had to keep going, even carrying my heartbreak. I became an RN, then pursued my Bachelor of Science in Nursing (BSN). Now, I’m working toward becoming a Family Nurse Practitioner (FNP) with plans to earn my Doctor of Nursing Practice (DNP). I dream of opening a culturally responsive health and wellness center for teens and underserved families that doesn’t just treat symptoms. Still, it nurtures wholeness through prevention, advocacy, and access to care. I’ve never had the luxury of walking a straight path. I’ve switched roles, specialties, and settings. I’ve gone from med-surg to trauma, from bedside to school nursing, and from surviving paycheck to paycheck to building a legacy of impact. As a school nurse in a high school on Chicago’s South Side, I see firsthand what happens when healthcare doesn’t reach far enough. I’ve held the hands of students facing chronic illness, mental health crises, and homelessness—all before the school day ends. I work critical care nights because my compassion doesn’t have an off switch. I study in between because education is from surviving to transforming. Joseph Joshua Searor’s story resonates deeply with mine. Returning to school as an adult is a bold act of faith. It means betting on yourself even when the odds are stacked against you. It means rewriting your narrative when the world says it’s too late. I’m honored to apply for a scholarship that honors someone who didn’t let time, grief, or life’s demands stop him from pursuing his next chapter. Neither will I. This scholarship would provide more than financial relief—it would validate every late night, every quiet tear, and every determined step I’ve taken to become the nurse I was meant to be. I carry my losses with me, but I also hold a vision: to use my life to restore, repair, and reach those who feel unseen. That is the heart of a nurse. That is the life I’m building.

The life of my dreams doesn’t begin with luxury or recognition. It starts with peace—the peace that shows up when the bills are paid, my health is stable, my children are thriving, and I no longer have to choose between purpose and survival. I am a Black woman, a full-time nurse, a full-time student, and a full-time mother, living a life with no part-time pain—only full-time prayers and a mission to turn my wounds into healing for others. The life of my dreams honors every part of me—my grief, ambition, faith, and refusal to give up. In the life I envision, I am Dr. Ramica Babers, DNP, FNP-C, RN. The first in my family to carry that title. A woman who once sat in a hospital hallway asking God why He took my mother the day after Mother’s Day, and my husband months later, due to unsafe care practices. That version of me didn’t think she would make it. But she kept going. And now, the life of my dreams is not just about what I overcome, but about what I create from the ashes. I dream of opening a community-based health and wellness center rooted in culture, compassion, and accessibility. This center would serve youth, women, and families often overlooked in traditional healthcare settings. There would be mobile clinics that provide screenings, mental health support, nutrition guidance, and preventative education. There would be creative spaces where teens learn how to use poetry and storytelling to process trauma, anxiety, and grief. It would be a place where healing and advocacy meet—where someone like me, who has felt unseen in every room, can make sure no one else has to feel that way. In my dream life, my children don’t just see me tired—they see me thriving. My daughter leads mentoring groups for young girls, and my sons support other boys in navigating emotional wellness and manhood with compassion. I run mother-and-son healing circles and host teen talks rooted in resilience, identity, and power. I speak at conferences and teach future nurses that trauma-informed care must reflect the communities it serves. I am not stretched to survive; I am resourced to serve. I can finally move from living in response to crisis to building care systems that prevent the crises I’ve lived through. But today, I am still in the becoming. I work overnight shifts in critical care, serve as a high school nurse daily, raise my children, and take graduate courses. I study while my kids sleep, attend classes between patient emergencies, and write discussion board posts from hospital break rooms. I am living in the middle of my dream—sacrificing now to build what will come. This scholarship would be more than financial relief. It would remind me that someone sees my weight and believes in where I am headed. I am bold enough to say that my dreams will not die in my struggle—they will be born through it. This is not just about what I want for myself. It is about the legacy I am building for every Black woman who dares to believe she is worthy of rest, resources, and the life she dreams of.

Nursing was never just a career choice for me—it was the answer to a deep ache inside me, a response to witnessing pain that could not be undone, and a vow to never stay silent in the face of suffering. My name is Ramica, and I am a registered nurse pursuing my advanced nursing degree to become a Family Nurse Practitioner. I work as a high school nurse during the day and as a critical care nurse overnight. This is not just a job—it is personal. I decided to pursue nursing because it gave me something nothing else could: the ability to restore dignity, ease pain, and advocate for those whose voices often go unheard. I didn’t come to nursing through a clean or easy path. I came through grief. I became a licensed practical nurse in 2020, driven by the legacy of my mother, who served as an LPN for 15 years. But just before my exit exam, I lost her. She passed away the day after Mother’s Day. I earned my license but couldn’t bring myself to practice right away. Her absence was louder than my ambition at the time. A year later, I resumed my journey and enrolled in an RN program. Halfway through, I experienced another devastating loss—my husband passed away due to unsafe practices at a dialysis clinic. I nearly gave up. The grief was paralyzing. But an instructor looked me in the eye and said, “You were put here to fix what is not always visible.” Those words saved my nursing career. They helped me see that my brokenness didn’t disqualify me; it prepared me. From that moment, I leaned in. I finished my RN, pursued my BSN, and am now in graduate school, often studying while working two jobs and raising three children. I chose nursing because I needed to believe that I could still build something beautiful from the wreckage of my life. And every time a student walks into my school nurse's office afraid, anxious, or in pain, I remember why I chose this path. I remember why this matters when I advocate for mental health, chronic disease management, or ensure a safe space for underserved youth. My inspiration comes from my mother’s quiet strength, my husband’s memory, and my children’s resilience. But it also comes from the people I care for daily—the student with unmanaged diabetes who lights up when he sees someone understands him, the critical care patient who whispers “thank you” before surgery, and the teen girl who asks for a hygiene kit instead of Tylenol because she doesn’t have one at home. They remind me that nursing is more than science—a sacred presence. What Wieland represents—the unseen but essential support systems in healthcare—is precisely why I believe nurses are foundational, too. Like a recliner that cradles a healing body or a sleep sofa that becomes a momentary refuge, we nurses carry others through some of the hardest chapters of their lives. And like Wieland’s mission, I want to design comfort in chaos, create healing where there’s hurt, and build trust in places where systems have failed. Receiving this scholarship would relieve a great financial burden and allow me to continue fully showing up for my patients, my students, and my community. I do not take this work lightly. I do it with heart, history, and hope, and I am just getting started. I found out about this scholarship on Bold.org.

Nursing is more than a career path for me—it is an act of redemption, purpose, and a personal vow to carry forward the light of those I have lost. My name is Ramica, and I am a registered nurse pursuing my advanced degree to become a Family Nurse Practitioner. I serve as a school nurse during the day and work overnight shifts in critical care. My nursing journey began not in a classroom but in grief. It was the moment I lost my mother—the nurse who inspired me—that I found the courage to become one myself. I became a licensed practical nurse (LPN) in 2020. But when I lost my mother just before my exit exam, I delayed my entry into the field. For a time, I felt directionless, holding my license but paralyzed by the weight of her absence. When I finally found my way back, I enrolled in an RN program. During that journey, I endured another earth-shattering loss—my husband passed away due to unsafe practices at a dialysis center. I almost walked away from nursing entirely. But in that moment of devastation, one of my instructors told me, “You were put here to fix what is not always visible.” Those words became my anchor. Nursing became my way of healing not just others, but myself. It gave me a way to transform pain into purpose. It reminded me that every wound I had could help me recognize and respond to the invisible wounds in others, especially in the underserved communities I serve. I now work in the Chicago Public Schools as a high school nurse, advocating daily for students who may not have anyone else speaking up for them. Many of them face chronic illnesses, food insecurity, family instability, and the burdens of growing up too fast. For some, I am the first person to ask if they’ve eaten. For others, I’m the one they trust when their mental health spirals or their home life crumbles. This is why I am pursuing a nursing degree beyond the bedside—to create systemic change in the places where healthcare often does not reach. I dream of opening a youth-centered community health and education center where families can access screenings, health education, counseling, and mentorship. It will be a safe space for prevention, healing, and advocacy—especially for teens facing trauma, chronic disease, or generational cycles of silence and neglect. I am also preparing to launch a creative health literacy initiative through spoken word. I want to use storytelling to reach youth in a way textbooks never could—to teach them how their bodies work, how to ask for help, and how to take control of their health journey. These ideas are not just ideas to me—they are deeply rooted in my experience as both a nurse and a mother. Pursuing this next degree requires time, sacrifice, and financial support. As a widow raising three children while working two jobs and attending graduate school, this scholarship would ease the burden that often weighs down students like me—students driven not just by ambition but also by lived experience. I carry with me the memory of the people I have loved and lost, the patients I have held the hands of, and the young people who walk into my office every day needing care, advocacy, and hope. Nursing is not just what I do—it is who I am. I am committed to making sure my journey empowers others to rise, heal, and believe that someone is fighting for them.

My name is Ramica, and nursing is not just a profession I chose—it’s a calling that chose me, shaped by grief, perseverance, and the desire to make invisible pain visible. I am a registered nurse, a school nurse by day, and a critical care nurse by night. But before any title, I am a mother, a widow, a daughter carrying forward a legacy, and a woman who refused to let sorrow write the final chapter of her story. I became a nurse during a season when my life was unrecognizable. My mother, a devoted LPN for 15 years, passed away the day after Mother’s Day, just before my LPN exit exam. I passed, but her absence left a void I could not immediately fill. A year later, while pursuing my RN, I lost my husband due to unsafe practices at a dialysis center. I nearly withdrew from my nursing program, but my instructor’s words—“You were put here to fix what is not always visible”—lit a fire in me I could not extinguish. I pressed on. Today, I work as a high school nurse to stay close to my children during the day and serve critically ill patients during overnight shifts. These roles allow me to care holistically for individuals across the lifespan, meeting not only their medical needs but their emotional ones as well—something Kelly O. embodied in her career. I am now pursuing my advanced degree to become a Family Nurse Practitioner (FNP). I aim to open a community health and awareness center dedicated to teens and underserved families, often overlooked and unheard. I want to be a presence in their lives before an ICU becomes necessary. I want to be the nurse who advocates, listens, and walks with them when no one else does. I have leaned into every opportunity to grow and prepare for this next step. I earned my Bachelor of Science in Nursing while balancing work, parenting, and grief. I’ve worked in med-surg, trauma, geriatrics, and pediatrics. I’ve spent countless nights studying and just as many in prayer. I’ve taken certifications, led health initiatives at my school, and even begun developing a spoken word poetry series for teens dealing with loss and identity—because healing does not always start with medicine; sometimes, it starts with being seen. The loss of my husband and mother taught me that empathy is not just something you feel—it’s something you do. Kelly O.’s story reminds me of what it looks like to live that truth boldly, with compassion as your compass. I want to carry her light forward by showing up for my patients in that same spirit—wise, present, and deeply human. This scholarship would support me financially and serve as a torch passed from one nurse’s legacy to another’s beginning. I am committed to transforming pain into purpose and honored to be considered for a scholarship named after someone who lived with that same resolve.

A Purpose Rooted in Pain, A Future Planted in Healing I did not choose nursing—it chose me the moment life shattered around me and healing became my only option. I was deep into my RN coursework when I lost the love of my life—my husband, my children’s father—to unsafe conditions at a dialysis center. One careless act, one avoidable mistake, and my whole world flipped like the truck that took Eric Maurice Brandon from his family. Grief knocked the wind out of me. But purpose? Purpose made me breathe again. I had already walked through fire, losing my mother the day after Mother’s Day and the week of my LPN exit exam. She was my blueprint for compassion—an LPN for 15 years. Her death shook me, but I pressed on. I became an LPN in 2020, an RN in 2022, and a BSN graduate in 2024. I now work as a school nurse by day and a critical care nurse by night—all while raising three children and preparing to become a Family Nurse Practitioner. My “why” for nursing runs deeper than career goals. It is legacy. It is loss. It is love. I do this for patients whose stories are overlooked. For children navigating chronic illness without consistent care. For my late husband, whose life reminds me that prevention, advocacy, and accountability are not just ideals—they are urgent responsibilities. I do this for every underrepresented soul who deserves to see someone who looks like them—and fights for them—on the other side of the stethoscope. But my vision stretches beyond the bedside. One day, I plan to open a community health awareness center focused on teens and underserved families—a safe space where healing meets education, advocacy meets access, and every heartbeat is heard. I want to create what I did not have growing up, what my children almost lost, and what my husband should have had—a place where health equity is not an afterthought but the foundation. To receive the Eric Maurice Brandon Memorial Scholarship would be more than financial support—it would be a sacred alignment. Eric’s story mirrors mine in ways that feel divinely timed. Like Eric, I have given care during the darkest of nights. Like him, I have shouldered grief while showing up for others. And like him, I believe that true healing begins when compassion meets courage. Eric’s legacy is not only that of a nurse and a veteran, but of a man who gave of himself until the end. To carry that legacy forward is an honor I do not take lightly. I am not only pursuing a career—I am fulfilling a calling to heal what hurt me, to mend what broke me, and to make visible what has been ignored for too long. I will keep rising—bruised but breathing, wounded but willing—so that others can too. Because sometimes the most powerful kind of care does not just save lives. It changes them.