Through death, hardships, and struggles with myself, the final year of my high school career has taught me that the dream of the people who brought me into this world live on through me. I wouldn't be a fraction of myself without being involved in the performing arts, and seeing the opportunities it allows others to just be free- whether it be acting, singing, dancing, or playing an instrument. My mother started college, but never graduated or obtained bachelor's degree. Though she couldn't have it herself, she advocated heavily for the education of others- me especially. She suddenly fell ill when I was eight years old, and was gone within the span of a single weekend. My father has fought through medical challenges and worked himself to the bone to keep me in school and a roof over my head. Of all those I've known throughout my life, he is the one I look up to and respect the most. Shortly after my mom passed away, he began having complications with his back that would continue into the present day. My father had been involved in a hit and run, given back surgery, and always recovered strong enough to go back to working to keep what we had; for years, he worked a full time job, and also ran a business on the side. When I was younger, I never fully understood why he continued to work so hard after everything he had went through. But the answer was simple. As most parents would, he wanted to give me the opportunity to do what he couldn't. He is, and to my knowledge always has been a brilliant man with a knack for machines and all kinds of equipment, but college was never in his grasp financially. I've been a member of my school's drama club and chorus since my freshman year, and it truly opens one's eyes to the beauty that comes from an art as such. Something that I don't think many people understand is the confidence that being involved in the performance arts can bring to somebody. Performing in front of other people- singing, dancing, speaking, it's a hardship to some and understandably so. Without the arts, I wouldn't have been able to be shaped into the woman I am today that has the self-assurance and sense of mind to trust in myself. There has been periods of times where I've heard people "If, you go to college". College is not an "if", but a "when", because I have known that I've wanted to pursue further education for not just myself, but for the people who raised me.

I was left without a mother at the age of eight, and throughout the course of the next years of my life was left tasseling with myself. I was winded and wounded- left to wander my way through my pre-teen years and adolescence knowing I lacked what other kids my age had. I had always been good in school, always been involved. But as I approached my junior year of high school, I still didn't know what or who I wanted to be. My freshman year, I was very depressed. I had tried to reach out to people and to resources around the area. We found a counselor who I was supposed to work with, and had a singular session with. I felt hopeful that this was what was going to help me get better. That counselor suddenly found a new job, and we were left in the dust. No follow up, very little to no help looking for additional resources for me. Finding a therapist was difficult enough, as many services did not accept the insurance my father had and we couldn't afford it without. I was left feeling desolate. I knew I needed help, but I didn't know who I could reach out to or who I could trust. There has been one counselor in my life who has made all the difference to me, and finally ignited a spark within me of what I wanted to do with my life. My sophomore year self began to work with one of the counselors in the guidance department of my school. Her job was separate of the usual guidance counselor, and her position was more aimed toward that of a therapist. Her main focus was working with kids and adults in an outside practice, who struggled with substance abuse. She offered me support- and a chance at bettering myself. I later decided to ask her about her education and what motivated her to go into this field. My counselor, though much older than myself, came from a home life that mirrored mine. Though she didn't lose a mother as I had, the dynamic of the household she came from was parallel to what my situation was, and I saw myself in her during her younger days. I began to find myself very interested in what she had as a profession, and a personal goal for myself later in life was born- to give others the help that I'd want Going through grief, mental health struggles, and personally experiencing many of the issues that this generation goes through has granted me insight on what I want to put my focus on later in life. I want to help heal others, through my knowledge. I never want any adolescent to feel as alone or stranded as I have in the past. My mothers death will always be apart of me, but I have learned to grow from the pain. She had a wish for me to attend college, and I fully plan bringing it to reality. The support and inspiration I've received from my counselor has benefited me in a way that will carry onto what I wish to do in my life as an adult, and I carry an eternal gratitude to her for helping me get where I am today on my road to graduation into the next chapter of my life.

I was left without a mother at the age of eight, and throughout the course of the next years of my life was left tasseling with myself. I was winded and wounded- left to wander my way through my pre-teen years and adolescence knowing I lacked what other kids my age had. I had always been good in school, always been involved. But as I approached my junior year of high school, I still didn't know what or who I wanted to be. My freshman year, I was very depressed. I had tried to reach out to people and to resources around the area. We found a counselor who I was supposed to work with, and had a singular session with. I felt hopeful that this was what was going to help me get better. That counselor suddenly found a new job, and we were left in the dust. No follow up, very little to no help looking for additional resources for me. Finding a therapist was difficult enough, as many services did not accept the insurance my father had and we couldn't afford it without. I was left feeling desolate. I knew I needed help, but I didn't know who I could reach out to or who I could trust. There has been one counselor in my life who has made all the difference to me, and finally ignited a spark within me of what I wanted to do with my life. My sophomore year self began to work with one of the counselors in the guidance department of my school. Her job was separate of the usual guidance counselor, and her position was more aimed toward that of a therapist. Her main focus was working with kids and adults in an outside practice, who struggled with substance abuse. She offered me support- and a chance at bettering myself. I later decided to ask her about her education and what motivated her to go into this field. My counselor, though much older than myself, came from a home life that mirrored mine. Though she didn't lose a mother as I had, the dynamic of the household she came from was parallel to what my situation was, and I saw myself in her during her younger days. I began to find myself very interested in what she had as a profession, and a personal goal for myself later in life was born- to give others the help I would have wanted myself to receive. Going through grief, mental health struggles, and personally experiencing many of the issues that this generation goes through has granted me insight on what I want to put my focus on later in life. I want to help heal others, through my knowledge. I never want any adolescents to feel as alone or stranded as I have in the past. My mothers death will always be apart of me, but I have learned to grow from the pain. She had a wish for me to attend college, and I fully plan bringing it to reality. The support and inspiration I've received from my counselor has benefited me in a way that will carry onto what I wish to do in my life as an adult, and I carry an eternal gratitude to her for helping me get where I am today on my road to graduation into the next chapter of my life.

“Boobaloo” was the last thing I ever got to hear from my mother in a hospital room. It was my nickname as a child, and eight year old me was under the impression that would also be one of the first things I would hear when my mom would come back home. She passed away in the hospital early the next morning. My mother, who had always been healthy, suddenly contracted sepsis and passed away from septic shock over the course of a single weekend and changed the rest of my youth going into adolescence. The first struggle that I experienced was processing loss; losing an instrumental figure in your life isn’t something that an eight year old can easily comprehend. I tried not to think about myself or what I was going through, and did my best to be there for my father. Family and friends always would constantly remind me how strong I was, even though deep down I felt like I was still missing some part of the process. My logic at the time was, and remained for years, if I didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t bother me. Anytime I tried to talk about the experience I had getting through my mother’s passing, my voice would break. I’d feel my throat close up and suddenly run out of air. Anytime I saw something in a movie, or read a book with a tender maternal moment it wounded me to remember that these were moments I’d never get to experience. These feelings intensified as I entered High School. Other girls my age always talked about how they went out shopping, got their nails done, or went somewhere with their mom. This further made me think about how I was different from them, and it did truly make me feel alone. There weren’t many other kids I knew who had also lost a mother, and it was hard to find people who understood what I went through. The turning point for me at this late stage of coming to terms with my mother’s death was my father’s remarriage to my stepmom seven years after her passing. I had always been supportive of this relationship, and my stepmom and I are close. Seeing the union of my father to somebody else made me realize that moving forward and still remembering my mother was okay. I didn’t have to wallow in the fact that I didn’t have a mother any longer, and that she’d be more proud of me for moving forward in my life. My mother was a woman who strongly advocated education, and through my efforts in and outside of the classroom I know she would want me to be where I am today. I know there are other individuals impacted from loss just as I was. In the future, it is my goal to guide others who may be struggling through their life just as I have in the past. And that future, though my mother may not be in it, is one I hope she would be proud of.

“Boobaloo” was the last thing I ever got to hear from my mother in a hospital room. It was my nickname as a child, and eight year old me was under the impression that would also be one of the first things I would hear when my mom would come back home. She passed away in the hospital early the next morning. My mother, who had always been healthy, suddenly contracted sepsis and passed away from septic shock over the course of a single weekend and changed the rest of my youth going into adolescence. The first struggle that I experienced was processing loss; losing an instrumental figure in your life isn’t something that an eight year old can easily comprehend. I tried not to think about myself or what I was going through, and did my best to be there for my father. Family and friends always would constantly remind me how strong I was, even though deep down I felt like I was still missing some part of the process. My logic at the time was, and remained for years, if I didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t bother me. Anytime I tried to talk about the experience I had getting through my mother’s passing, my voice would break. I’d feel my throat close up and suddenly run out of air. Anytime I saw something in a movie, or read a book with a tender maternal moment it wounded me to remember that these were moments I’d never get to experience. These feelings intensified as I entered High School. Other girls my age always talked about how they went out shopping, got their nails done, or went somewhere with their mom. This further made me think about how I was different from them, and it did truly make me feel alone. There weren’t many other kids I knew who had also lost a mother, and it was hard to find people who understood what I went through. The turning point for me at this late stage of coming to terms with my mother’s death was my father’s remarriage to my stepmom seven years after her passing. I had always been supportive of this relationship, and my stepmom and I are close. Seeing the union of my father to somebody else made me realize that moving forward and still remembering my mother was okay. I didn’t have to wallow in the fact that I didn’t have a mother anymore, and that she’d be more proud of me for moving forward in my life. My mother was a woman who strongly advocated education, and through my efforts in and outside of the classroom I know she would want me to be where I am today. I know there are other individuals impacted from loss just as I was. In the future, it is my goal to guide others who may be struggling through their life just as I have in the past. And that future, though my mother may not be in it, is one I hope she would be proud of.