The moon over the Chuska Mountains always seemed bigger and brighter when my dad was beside me. In my dream we are back in the high desert of New Mexico, lying on the ground under a thick blanket of stars. I can smell the sweet piñon smoke as a gentle breeze stirs the fire. A shooting star streaks across the sky, and for a few perfect hours it is just us—Dad and his “princess.” The alarm shocks me awake. The woodsmoke fades and the familiar silence of the house settles in—the same silence that has lived here since Dad passed. For a second the heartache returns, but this time I hug my pillow and softly smile. The dream wasn’t there to remind me of what I lost. It was a gift: a brief visit with the best dad in the world. My father was the pastor of a church in the Four Corners area of New Mexico. He was a bridge-builder—someone who believed the community was stronger when people of every denomination worked together. Even in his last days, while lying in a hospital bed with stage-four pancreatic cancer, he prayed for the families walking past his room. He was a strong husband and father whose quiet faith he deliberately passed on to me. He also loved the outdoors and made sure I did too. Some of my happiest memories are of camping with him: pitching a tent, building a fire, watching wildlife instead of hunting, and staring up at a sky so full of stars it felt close enough to touch. His illness moved fast. After the diagnosis he spent only two weeks in the hospital before asking my mom to take him home on hospice. He died the next day. The grief, pain, and anger that followed were overwhelming. My grades fell like a boulder off a steep cliff. For a while I wasn’t sure I would recover academically or emotionally. One day, reaching for his Bible, it opened to one of his favorite passages—John 11:25-26: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die…” My dad believed those words. Knowing he was no longer in pain and that I would see him again didn’t erase the grief, but it gave me new direction. The years since have required some real fighting. I have put in long hours to pull up my GPA. Math still gives me a rough time, but I refuse to let it stop me. My mom is now our sole provider, so I know the cost of college weighs heavy. Earning my degree as a dental hygienist is something my dad would be proud of. It will be my way of helping others. Oral health is more than clean teeth—it is dignity, confidence, and the ability to smile without pain or shame. One day, when I sit with an anxious patient, I will remember the quiet reassurance my dad gave so freely to others—including me—and think of his million-dollar smile. Sometimes dreams are painful. This one pushes me to keep going.

Becoming a nurse was not my childhood dream. I chose it because I have watched my mother fight to keep our family afloat after my father’s sudden death, and I know what it feels like to need someone who will stay in the room when you are scared and everything hurts. Two years ago, my dad passed away unexpectedly. Overnight, my mom became a widow, head of household, and the only parent to a teenage girl who was learning how to grieve the loss of her dad. A life-insurance payout helped us avoid immediate crisis, but it was a one-time payment, not a monthly income. My mom’s recent promotion has moved our income above the federal “low-income” line, which means we no longer qualify for any need-based grants. Yet the numbers on paper don't reflect the reality of funeral expenses already spent, a mortgage that didn’t shrink, medical expenses not covered by insurance, or the rising costs of food, gas, and daily living needs in the Four Corners. She still tells me not to worry, but I see how frugal she is, how she puts off buying the shoes she needs, and cuts coupons like they are all that's keeping food on the table. I see it. She’s my mom. I worry. Nursing is personal for me. The year after my dad died, I sat in an emergency room while my mom fought for her life after suffering a pulmonary embolism. As nurses attended to my mom, I became aware that competent, compassionate care is a gift you cannot put a price on. I want to be the nurse who notices when a patient’s daughter is trying not to cry in the hallway. I want to be the one who explains medication side effects in plain, simple language during a moment of crisis. I want to serve the people of San Juan County and the Navajo Nation who too often fall through the cracks of a stretched healthcare system. My leadership in JROTC taught me how to handle pressure, and with my church youth group I have organized clothing drives and fundraising events. These are skills I can carry into clinicals and into community outreach as an RN. My grades, my volunteer hours at San Juan Regional Medical Center, and, hopefully, acceptance into the nursing program at San Juan College are the result of discipline born from personal hardships. I know education is the one door Mom cannot open for me while trying to keep a roof over our heads. Full tuition at a New Mexico public college is an incredible opportunity, but housing, books, scrubs, and daily living expenses still add up to thousands my family does not have an over- abundance of. A scholarship that covers even part of those costs would mean I could focus on learning the skills I am going to need for the rigorous next several years instead of worrying about payment plans to cover expenses. I am determined to graduate on time so I can begin helping my mom get back on her feet. I want her to be proud of me and to know that I appreciate all she has done. I do not come from poverty in the way forms sometimes explain it, but I do come from a home where love is plentiful and money is not. Any support you provide will be invested in my nursing career, allowing me to proudly serve the community that I love.

Becoming a nurse was not my childhood dream. I chose it because I have watched my mother fight to keep our family afloat after my father’s sudden death, and I know what it feels like to need someone who will stay in the room when you are scared and everything hurts. Two years ago, my dad passed away unexpectedly. Overnight, my mom became a widow, head of household, and the only parent to a teenage girl who was learning how to grieve the loss of her dad. A life-insurance payout helped us avoid immediate crisis, but it was a one-time payment, not a monthly income. My mom’s recent promotion has moved our income above the federal “low-income” line, which means we no longer qualify for any need-based grants. Yet the numbers on paper don't reflect the reality of funeral expenses already spent, a mortgage that didn’t shrink, medical expenses not covered by insurance, or the rising costs of food, gas, and daily living needs in the Four Corners. She still tells me not to worry, but I see how frugal she is, how she puts off buying the shoes she needs, and cuts coupons like they are all that's keeping food on the table. I see it. She’s my mom. I worry. Nursing is personal for me. The year after my dad died, I sat in an emergency room while my mom fought for her life after suffering a pulmonary embolism. As nurses attended to my mom, I became aware that competent, compassionate care is a gift you cannot put a price on. I want to be the nurse who notices when a patient’s daughter is trying not to cry in the hallway. I want to be the one who explains medication side effects in plain, simple language during a moment of crisis. I want to serve the people of San Juan County and the Navajo Nation who too often fall through the cracks of a stretched healthcare system. My leadership in JROTC taught me how to handle pressure, and with my church youth group I have organized clothing drives and fundraising events. These are skills I can carry into clinicals and into community outreach as an RN. My grades, my volunteer hours at San Juan Regional Medical Center, and, hopefully, acceptance into the nursing program at San Juan College are the result of discipline born from personal hardships. I know education is the one door Mom cannot open for me while trying to keep a roof over our heads. Full tuition at a New Mexico public college is an incredible opportunity, but housing, books, scrubs, and daily living expenses still add up to thousands my family does not have an over- abundance of. A scholarship that covers even part of those costs would mean I could focus on learning the skills I am going to need for the rigorous next several years instead of worrying about payment plans to cover expenses. I am determined to graduate on time so I can begin helping my mom get back on her feet. I want her to be proud of me and to know that I appreciate all she has done. I do not come from poverty in the way forms sometimes explain it, but I do come from a home where love is plentiful and money is not. Any support you provide will be invested in my nursing career, allowing me to proudly serve the community that I love.

Kalia D. Davis showed what work ethic, kindness, ambition, and drive look like in real life. As a high school track and cross-country athlete, straight-A student with a full ride to UIUC, dorm worker, Black Student Union leader, and future ROTC member, she excelled while lifting other people up. She was quite the woman and I know she is missed by all she inspired and those who loved her. I know I don't even come close to all that Kalia accomplished at her young age—but I try to keep my standards high. Soccer was my game—loved it. It taught me how important teamwork and discipline are but when an injury sidelined me, I didn't know what to do with myself or my time. I couldn't just sit around so I started leaning harder into school and volunteer service. I realized the old cliche "when one door closes, another one opens" was true. At least it was for me. Three years ago stage-4 pancreatic cancer took my dad, our church pastor. Dad lived boldly—praying with strangers in hospitals, camping under the stars, and telling me “You’ve got this, Princess” during math homework or hard talks. Losing him at sixteen was hard. My grades started to slip and for the first time I was failing. One night I found his Bible bookmarked to John 11:25-26. Thankfully, faith and a counselor helped me start climbing out of the fog. I started really studying hard. Late-night study sessions often ended with tears on the pages, but I kept going because I knew Dad was watching. Those long nights paid off— my GPA rose to 3.09 unweighted / 3.40 weighted. The numbers are proof that hard work still works even when life is at its hardest—the same kind of drive Kalia showed. A year later my mom had a pulmonary embolism at San Juan Regional. Nurses like Michael, who held her hand while she was scared of blood draws, and Clay, who sat by her bed and told his own recovery story after a bad bike accident, made the difference. They gave her hope through simple kindness, not just clinical skill. Watching them, and remembering the hospice nurses who cared for Dad, showed me what I want to do. Yes, degrees matter, but without kindness you are just a machine and that realization is why I want to become a nurse. JROTC and the church youth group helped build my discipline while two years of work-based learning at San Juan Regional let me volunteer and see the impact nurses have every day. In the Four Corners a lot of talented girls write off healthcare careers as impossible. I plan to change that by starting community programs that introduce high-school girls to nursing degrees, shadowing opportunities, and the confidence that these careers are reachable. I am earning my BSN through San Juan College’s partnership with the University of New Mexico—first the associate degree for RN, then the bachelor’s—while living at home and working at our local hospital. This scholarship would ease the financial pressure on my mom and let me focus on classes and clinicals instead of taking extra jobs. I will carry my dad’s words, my mom’s strength, and the kindness of those nurses with me. Every patient I care for and every girl I encourage will be my way of living out the same excellence and heart Kalia showed.

One night, three years ago, I stood beside a hospital bed in our home. A storm brewed outside. In spite of the deep, rolling thunder and constant flashes of lightning, my dad lay unfazed as hospice nurses cared for him—quietly, competently. Pancreatic cancer was slowly stealing him from us. Mom and I knew it. We had questions and the nurses did their best to answer our questions gently and without drowning us in medical jargon. I would turn sixteen in two weeks. Dad didn't live to see my sixteenth birthday. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a life-threatening pulmonary embolism—I couldn't lose her too. One morning Mom, tired of being poked, trembled at the thought of another blood draw. Nurse Michael took her hand and spoke softly, and her fear subsided. During late evening rounds, Nurse Clay stopped by Mom’s room to find her crying over dropping oxygen saturation numbers. He didn’t lecture; he sat on the edge of her bed and said, “Amy, those are just numbers we’re watching closely. If anything was truly wrong, we’d already be here.” He shared his story; after a biking accident, doctors said he’d never walk again. “Look at me now,” he told her, still working a twelve-hour shift to care for her. “Forget the numbers. Get some rest." The next morning, sunlight spilled into the room as Mom sat in the recliner, feeling better. Seeing her sitting there, I smiled as I realized what real nursing is. It’s not just medicine or vitals; it’s giving someone hope that tomorrow can be better. That is who I want to be for someone else. I’ve seen too much to walk away from this calling. My desire to become a nurse has grown through my own experiences, but it has also been confirmed through my two-year work-based learning/volunteer program at San Juan Regional. I shadowed in the ER and ICU, held hands with accident victims, and comforted scared parents and patients. I saw how quickly a hospital can become overwhelming, especially when someone is frightened or does not understand what is happening. Those experiences taught me that nursing requires more than knowing what to do medically. It requires knowing how to be there for people when they need it most. I also want to make a difference beyond the hospital. Growing up in the Four Corners, I have known many talented girls who won’t consider a career in healthcare because they feel it is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and community programs, I want to change that story. I want young women from rural communities to know that nursing can offer a stable, respected, life-changing career. I can share what I learn about entering a nursing program and finding shadowing opportunities at local hospitals. If I can help even one young woman see herself in scrubs instead of believing her options are limited, I will consider that part of my career a success. As the daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother, I have sat on both sides of the hospital bed rails. I understand that nursing is more than clinical skill and more than a degree on a piece of paper. Nursing, to me, is where life gets real—where fear meets calm, and where a nurse can help someone believe tomorrow might be better. I want to be Nurse Zoe: the one who listened, who cared, and who helped someone find hope when it felt impossible.

At nineteen, I know where I am going and I know what it will take to get there. I am going to become a nurse. A nursing career will not be easy and my path so far has been rocky and full of setbacks. So why? Why nursing? I am choosing nursing because I have seen what happens when a good nurse walks into a hospital room filled with a scared family. That nurse can bring calm, compassion, and the ability to make people feel less alone. I learned something about perseverance before I ever stepped into a nursing classroom. I lost my father to stage-4 pancreatic cancer at age sixteen. Later, my mother survived a life-threatening pulmonary embolism. Watching healthcare workers care for my family during some of the worst moments of our lives enabled me to see the difference a nurse could make simply by staying calm, explaining things clearly (sometimes again and again), and treating a loved one as a person and not a diagnosis. My future starts here in the Four Corners. I plan to earn my nursing degree and eventually my BSN, then build my career in the community that I love and call home. I want to care for patients who sometimes get overlooked: Hispanic families, elderly patients, working families, and people who face financial or cultural barriers when trying to navigate healthcare. I want to provide support for the patient who is afraid to ask a question, the family who does not understand what is happening, and the person who has begun to believe that no one is really listening. My education is what will allow me to turn my career goal into something useful. Every class, clinical experience, and eventually every patient I care for will help make me the nurse I want to become. Winning a scholarship would help with tuition, books, supplies, and the everyday costs of getting through college and allow me to concentrate more on studies instead of financial worries. As a young person from a rural New Mexico community, I want others to see a career in healthcare and say, "hey, she did that—I can too." Even when you experience loss and setbacks like I have, you can still have a stable, fulfilling career. One that helps others. I know I can't change healthcare or problems in the community by myself overnight. But I can promise that I will show up. I will keep learning, asking questions, and offer support where needed. And when I eventually have the knowledge and experience to do more, I will. That is my plan for the future: become a nurse, serve my community, and find ways to make healthcare a little less frightening.

I don’t just want to become a nurse. I want to change what healthcare feels like for people in the Four Corners who too often feel like they’re on the outside looking in. At age 19, my resume and credentials aren't very impressive, but I have something that matters—determination and heart. I grew up in the Four Corners of New Mexico, where people work hard, take care of their families, and figure out how to get by when things get tough. I’ve also seen how life can change in the blink of an eye. When I was sixteen, I lost my dad to stage-4 pancreatic cancer. The following year, my mom survived a life-threatening pulmonary embolism. Both times I watched what healthcare looks like when a family is scared and doesn’t know what’s coming next. The nurses who cared for my parents answered any questions without making us feel dumb. They explained things when everything felt like too much. They treated my family like actual people instead of just medical cases. That stuck with me. I felt their presence, their competence, their caring. That mattered. I don’t want to be the nurse who just checks the boxes, hands out the meds, and moves on to the next room. I want to be the one who notices when someone looks confused or scared or like they’re not being seen—and actually does something about it. The Four Corners has Hispanic families, older patients, working families, and a lot of people who run into financial problems that make getting care harder. Can I fix the whole system? Of course not. But I want to try. I want patients to walk in believing someone will actually listen to them, not wondering if anyone will understand where they come from or take them seriously—not giving them their "fifteen minute appointment time" and dismissing them. College will help provide not only the clinical skills, but the knowledge and the confidence to care for what a person needs—both physical and emotional. I want to learn more about the obstacles in my own community and use that to help make healthcare clearer and more personal. I would like to work in a nonprofit system where serving the community isn’t just about "the bottom line"—it’s what people actually do every day. I also want my education to mean something bigger than just my own career. I want some young adult from this area to see me and think, maybe I could do that too. My own path hasn’t been straight. There’s been grief, unexpected turns, and plenty of potholes. I often have doubts of "can I really do this?" But I pull myself up and keep showing up. The people who inspire me are my family, the community that raised me, and the healthcare workers who took care of my parents when we needed them most. They showed me that changing someone’s day doesn’t always take something huge. Sometimes it may be listening and answering the same question three times because the person or family is afraid. Maybe it is speaking up for the family if they aren't comfortable questioning something that concerns them. That’s the kind of nurse I want to be. Not one that shows up to a job. I want to be someone my community can count on. I want to give back and help make healthcare a little less overwhelming and frightening. I know I can't change the whole system, but I can change what happens in the room where I’m standing. And that’s what I plan to do.

I know where I am going. I am going to become a nurse. Not because nursing is an easy career, and certainly not because my path to getting there has been easy. I am choosing nursing because I have seen what happens when a good nurse walks into a frightening situation and brings something every textbook cannot teach: calm, compassion, and the ability to make people feel less alone. My future starts here in the Four Corners. I plan to earn my nursing degree and eventually my BSN, then build my career in the community that raised me. I want to care for patients who sometimes get overlooked—Hispanic families, elderly patients, working families, and people who face financial or cultural barriers when trying to navigate healthcare. I want to be an advocate for the patient who is afraid to ask a question, the family who does not understand what is happening, and the person who has begun to believe that no one is really listening. I know this work will ask a lot of me. I am prepared for that. I learned something about perseverance before I ever stepped into a nursing classroom. I lost my father to stage-4 pancreatic cancer. Later, my mother survived a life-threatening pulmonary embolism. I watched healthcare workers care for my family during some of the worst moments of our lives. I saw the difference a nurse could make simply by staying calm, explaining things clearly, answering the same question again, or treating a frightened person with dignity. Those experiences did not make me want an easy career. They made me want a meaningful one. My education is the tool that will allow me to turn that determination into something useful. Every class, clinical experience, and eventually every patient I care for will move me closer to the nurse I want to become. A scholarship would help with tuition, books, supplies, and the everyday costs of getting through college. More importantly, it would help me keep moving forward without allowing financial pressure to become another obstacle between me and my goal. But I do not want my education to end with me. I want a young person from my community to see a nurse who looks like someone from home and think, "Maybe I can do that too." I want my career to show that you can come from a small community, experience loss and setbacks, take a few wrong turns, and still build a future bigger than you once imagined. I cannot promise that I will change healthcare overnight. I cannot promise that I will solve every problem facing my community. I can promise that I will show up. I will keep learning. I will keep asking questions. I will advocate when someone needs an advocate. And when I eventually have the knowledge and experience to do more, I will. That is my plan for the future: become a nurse, serve my community, and keep finding ways to make things better than I found them. A scholarship would help me get there. What I do once I arrive is up to me.

I used to think a career was mostly about choosing what you wanted to be and getting the skills to get you there. But as I have gotten older, I realize it can mean much more than that. A career can be a way to help others, honor the people who have shaped you, and make a difference in the community that raised you. My goal is to become a nurse who provides compassionate care, advocates for patients, and helps people feel seen during some of the hardest moments of their lives. Long before I decided I wanted to become a nurse, I learned that serving others mattered. Here in the Four Corners area, many families are hard working people connected to an economy that rises and falls with the oil and gas industry, leaving some to struggle with day-to-day expenses. Through my church, volunteering at Vacation Bible School, helping with youth activities, and leading the children’s choir, I saw how something as simple as showing up for people could make an impact. I have seen children become so excited over coloring books and simple gifts purchased by our church's youth groups — gifts they might otherwise not have. I am proud to be a part of those experiences and they have taught me that kindness is not always about doing something huge. Sometimes it is just being there, listening, and reminding someone they are valued and loved. My desire to become a nurse grew stronger through the experiences my family has faced. When my father passed away from stage-4 pancreatic cancer, I saw how important compassion is when people are afraid and hurting. I remember the healthcare workers who cared for him, but also cared for our family. One radiology technologist made my dad laugh about fishing during a difficult scan. That small moment stayed with me because it showed me that one person's compassion can make a difference in someone's day. Later, when my mother fought a life-threatening pulmonary embolism, I saw nursing from another perspective. During that scary time, the nurses caring for her became my family's reassurance that things would be OK. They explained what was happening. If we had questions, they answered simply without all the clinical mumbo jumbo and my mother was treated like a person and not a diagnosis. They reminded me that nursing is not only about scrubs and that degree on the wall. It is about caring — basic human kindness. In the Four Corners region, I know that Hispanic and elderly patients often face barriers in healthcare. I want to help those who feel overlooked or unheard and be the nurse who listens and respects each person's background and culture. I see a future where healthcare feels more personal and reachable — where the whole person is cared for and not just their symptoms. I desperately want to be a part of that. Hopefully, my journey shows others in my community they too can reach their goals, even when the path is cluttered with unexpected potholes and detours the way mine has. The people who inspire me most are my family, the community I love, and healthcare workers who cared for my parents with all the compassion and kindness I could possibly ask for. Watching their examples shaped the nurse I hope to become — the nurse who listens and cares when times are hard — giving back to her neighbors as best she can. By working within a non-profit healthcare system, I can be certain my focus stays on providing quality, impartial care to the village that raised me.

When my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, many of our days revolved around scans and bloodwork. One morning, as a radiology technologist prepared him for a scan, he asked if my dad hunted or fished. Within minutes they were swapping stories about hunting in the Chuska foothills and talking about "the one that got away." For a few minutes, my dad wasn't a cancer patient. He was just himself. A year later, I sat beside my mother's hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. Two moments during her stay made me realize I was being drawn toward nursing. As she trembled at the thought of another blood draw, her nurse, Michael, took her hand, smiled, and spoke calmly. The procedure was soon complete. One late evening during her stay, Nurse Clay was making rounds and found her crying over falling oxygen levels. “Amy, we see those same numbers at the station,” he said. “If there was something wrong, we’d already be here.” He sat on the edge of the bed and told her about recovering from a biking accident when doctors said he would never walk again. “Look at me now—working a twelve-hour shift to care for you. Just numbers. Get some rest,” he said as he flipped off the light. The next morning she was sitting in a recliner looking more like herself. Watching Michael and Clay care for my mother changed the way I looked at nursing. My two-year shadowing and work-based learning program at San Juan Regional Medical Center gave me the opportunity to see those same qualities in nurses, CNAs, and technicians throughout the hospital. During one shift, I accompanied an accident victim to imaging. As she began to cry, I reached for her hand and told her she was safe and in good hands. When she whispered, "Thank you," I was reminded of the comfort Michael and Clay gave my mother, and right then, I knew where I belonged. As a future nurse, I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—the daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. I have seen how a few calm words can ease fear, how a simple conversation can make someone forget they are a patient for a moment, and how compassion can change the course of a difficult day. My goal is to earn my BSN through the partnership between San Juan College and the University of New Mexico so I can remain in the Four Corners and serve the community that has given so much to my family. I hope to be the nurse who sits down, listens, and helps patients find hope during some of the hardest moments of their lives. I found the opportunity for this scholarship on the Bold.org website.

When my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, many of our days revolved around scans and bloodwork. One morning, as a radiology technologist prepared him for a scan, he asked if my dad hunted or fished. Within minutes they were swapping stories about hunting in the Chuska foothills and talking about "the one that got away." For a few minutes, my dad wasn't a cancer patient. He was just himself. A year later, I sat beside my mother's hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. Two moments during her stay made me realize I was being drawn toward nursing. As she trembled at the thought of another blood draw, her nurse, Michael, took her hand, smiled, and spoke calmly. The procedure was soon complete. One late evening during her stay, Nurse Clay was making rounds and found her crying over falling oxygen levels. “Amy, we see those same numbers at the station,” he said. “If there was something wrong, we’d already be here.” He sat on the edge of the bed and told her about recovering from a biking accident when doctors said he would never walk again. “Look at me now—working a twelve-hour shift to care for you. Just numbers. Get some rest,” he said as he flipped off the light. The next morning she was sitting in a recliner looking more like herself. Watching Michael and Clay care for my mother changed the way I looked at nursing. My two-year shadowing and work-based learning program at San Juan Regional Medical Center gave me the opportunity to see those same qualities in nurses, CNAs, and technicians throughout the hospital. During one shift, I accompanied an accident victim to imaging. As she began to cry, I reached for her hand and told her she was safe and in good hands. When she whispered, "Thank you," I was reminded of the comfort Michael and Clay gave my mother, and right then, I knew where I belonged. As a future nurse, I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—the daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. I have seen how a few calm words can ease fear, how a simple conversation can make someone forget they are a patient for a moment, and how compassion can change the course of a difficult day. My goal is to earn my BSN through the partnership between San Juan College and the University of New Mexico so I can remain in the Four Corners and serve the community that has given so much to my family. I hope to be the nurse who sits down, listens, and helps patients find hope during some of the hardest moments of their lives.

When my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, many of our days revolved around scans and bloodwork. One morning, as a radiology technologist prepared him for a scan, he asked if my dad hunted or fished. Within minutes they were swapping stories about hunting in the Chuska foothills and talking about "the one that got away." For a few minutes, my dad wasn't a cancer patient. He was just himself. A year later, I sat beside my mother's hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. Two moments during her stay made me realize I was being drawn toward nursing. As she trembled at the thought of another blood draw, her nurse, Michael, took her hand, smiled, and spoke calmly. The procedure was soon complete. One late evening during her stay, Nurse Clay was making rounds and found her crying over falling oxygen levels. “Amy, we see those same numbers at the station,” he said. “If there was something wrong, we’d already be here.” He sat on the edge of the bed and told her about recovering from a biking accident when doctors said he would never walk again. “Look at me now—working a twelve-hour shift to care for you. Just numbers. Get some rest,” he said as he flipped off the light. The next morning she was sitting in a recliner looking more like herself. Watching Michael and Clay care for my mother changed the way I looked at nursing. My two-year shadowing and work-based learning program at San Juan Regional Medical Center gave me the opportunity to see those same qualities in nurses, CNAs, and technicians throughout the hospital. During one shift, I accompanied an accident victim to imaging. As she began to cry, I reached for her hand and told her she was safe and in good hands. When she whispered, "Thank you," I was reminded of the comfort Michael and Clay gave my mother, and right then, I knew where I belonged. As a future nurse, I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—the daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. I have seen how a few calm words can ease fear, how a simple conversation can make someone forget they are a patient for a moment, and how compassion can change the course of a difficult day. My goal is to earn my BSN through the partnership between San Juan College and the University of New Mexico so I can remain in the Four Corners and serve the community that has given so much to my family. I hope to be the nurse who sits down, listens, and helps patients find hope during some of the hardest moments of their lives.

I am a Hispanic high school senior from Farmington, New Mexico. Growing up in the Four Corners, where the oil and gas economy swings between boom and bust, has taught me to be adaptable, resilient, and tough even when things look impossible. Two years ago, my father—our family's provider and my loudest cheerleader—passed away unexpectedly from stage-4 pancreatic cancer. Overnight, my mom became a widow, the sole head of our household, and mother to a sixteen year old girl learning how to grieve the loss of her beloved dad. I have watched her fight to keep our family afloat with quiet strength and steady determination. Her example is the biggest reason I am so driven to succeed. I need for her to see her own strength and steadfast determination in me and be able to take pride in my accomplishments. My leadership in JROTC taught me how to stay calm under pressure, and along with my church's youth group, I have learned how to organize and assist in successful fundraising events. These are skills I carry into my studies, often waking up with a book in my hand after studying well into the night. My time volunteering at San Juan Regional Medical Center changed everything for me. I saw how one calm voice or gentle hand can ease fear during the scariest moments. My goal is to pursue a BSN through the partnership between San Juan College and the University of New Mexico. I want to stay in the Four Corners and become the kind of nurse who advocates for underserved and elderly Hispanic patients who are often overlooked. I want to provide the high-quality, compassionate care our community deserves—the kind of care my own family needed. If I could start my own charity, its mission would be to provide bilingual medical advocacy and emotional support for families navigating sudden health crises in San Juan County. I would call it “The Hallway Project,” serving the people who too often fall through the cracks of a stretched healthcare system, particularly those who face language barriers. Volunteers would serve as bilingual navigators, explaining medication side effects and procedures in Spanish when English feels like a second language to a family in crisis. They would also act as family advocates, trained to notice when a patient's family member is trying not to cry in the hallway and offering them a listening ear, a bottle of water, or practical resources. Finally, using skills learned from my own experience with fundraising, volunteers would help families manage the "paper reality" of hidden costs like travel and daily living needs. My charity would ensure that no family in my community ever feels alone in a hospital hallway.

Kalia D. Davis represented work ethic, kindness, ambition, and drive; all qualities I try to carry in my own life. As a track and cross-country athlete, straight-A student with a full ride to UIUC, dorm worker, Black Student Union leader, and future ROTC member, she exceeded while lifting others with encouragement and laughter. Her life inspires me as I try to find my way in New Mexico's Four Corners. Two years ago, stage-4 pancreatic cancer took my dad, our church pastor, who lived boldly—praying for hospital strangers, camping under bright stars, and saying "You've got this, Princess" during our math or life talks. Grief consumed me while my grades went unnoticed and tanked. I was failing. Then I found his Bible bookmarked to John 11:25-26: "I am the resurrection and the life..." Faith turned questions into quiet comfort. With a counselor's help, I started rebuilding. Late night study sessions often left books spotted with tears and weary eyes giving way to sleep. Other nights, I would just sit in the dark and stare, wondering if I was going to get out of the fog. Some days I just wanted to scream "I quit!" But I couldn't quit. Dad was watching "his Princess" and I wasn't going to let him down. Finally, my tears and late nights paid off and my failing grades became a 3.0921 unweighted/3.4021 weighted GPA. Those numbers prove hard work and drive in hard, hard times—much like Kalia's excellence under pressure. A year later, Mom's pulmonary embolism at San Juan Regional threw us into another tailspin. Nurses like Michael, who held her hand to ease a blood-drawing fear, and Clay, who sat on her bedside, while sharing his "impossible recovery story" from a biking accident. "Look at me now," Nurse Clay said. "Forget the numbers. Get some rest." Seeing Mom stronger in the sunlight the next day, I knew exactly what she had needed. Not the cold clinical talk. Not the career professional in scrubs. Kindness. She needed human kindness to give her hope when her tomorrow felt impossible. That thought really blew me away. All the degrees in the world, without kindness, are just a machine grinding out diagnoses. Hospice nurses had done the same for Dad with their gentle touch, clear explanations, and space for Mom's and my grief. Their compassion reflected what I felt Jesus was sent to do and that lit a fire in me. JROTC leadership strengthened my discipline and respect for authority while my church youth group, and two-year work-based learning at San Juan Regional allowed me to volunteer while making a difference. The Four Corners' oil-and-gas economy limits career options and many of my talented friends avoid healthcare because they think it is totally out of reach. My plan is to change that with community programs for high school girls. These programs would show them how to pursue degrees in nursing and shadowing opportunities while building their confidence to see that stable, worthwhile careers are not impossible. I am pursuing my BSN through San Juan College's partnership with the University of New Mexico. I can earn my associates' degree in registered nursing and then earn my bachelors' degree while living at home and caring for families at our local hospital. This scholarship would ease Mom's money worries and let me focus on studies without having extra jobs. "Dad's Princess" will carry his hugs, Mom's strength, and so many nurses' kindnesses every day. With every hand I hold, every girl l empower, I will do my best to live with Kalia's remarkable life as my example.

I am a senior at Piedra Vista High School in Farmington, New Mexico. Our community in the Four Corners blends the rugged high desert with beautiful mountain foothills and an oil and gas economy that changes with the headlines. Here I have learned you have to be able to quickly adapt to change in order to succeed. Being a student of Hispanic and White heritage, my world is a mixture of ethnic contrasts. Through deep personal loss, pride in my heritage, and hands-on hospital experience, I have discovered my purpose—I want to become a Registered Nurse. I plan to apply to San Juan College's Bachelor of Science in Nursing program(BSN) and later enter a profession where I can show the same kindness and compassion that helped my own family through our worst times. My journey in healthcare was born through my grief. Two years ago, my father passed away at home from stage 4 pancreatic cancer. In his final days, the hospice nurses who visited us provided more than medical care, offering a calming presence that allowed Dad's last moments to be gentler. My mother later survived a life-threatening pulmonary embolism only a year after my dad's passing. One morning, as she trembled before a painful procedure, she called for her nurse. Nurse Michael wasn't just answering a nurse call. He took her hand, spoke softly, and smiled as the fear left her face. It was then that I realized what real nursing should be—not only clinical skills but allowing yourself to show simple kindness. My parent's experiences were the beginning of my desire for a career in healthcare, but that deepened through a two-year shadowing and work-based learning program at the same facility. I worked alongside nurses and techs across nearly every department, but my turning point happened in imaging. I was transporting a woman who had just been in a severe accident. The imaging room was cold, dim, and sterile. The CT scanner suddenly growled to life. As we began the difficult process of preparing her for scans, she began to cry. I saw the same fear in her eyes that I had seen in my mother’s. Without thinking, I reached for her hand, smiled through my mask, and spoke to her with the same steady comfort Michael had given us. She squeezed my hand back and whispered, “Thank you.” In that instant, I wasn't a student. I had stepped forward as a caregiver and I was helping someone that needed me—this is where I belonged. Since my father's passing, my mother and I have had to be very careful about our money. The funds she managed to save are for her long-term retirement,any unexpected medical expenses, and housing and auto repairs. It is important to protect those funds as much as possible so receiving this scholarship would allow me to pursue a BSN without upsetting my mother’s retirement future. In the Four Corners region, our Hispanic community is large but often faces healthcare hurdles. I want to offer support for my neighbors, providing care that respects our traditions and understands our unique challenges. My time in JROTC has built the leadership and discipline I need for a high-pressure hospital environment, while involvement in church events taught me how to communicate with people from all cultures and lifestyles. By choosing to stay in the Four Corners I will be the nurse who stays calm in a crisis and notices the quiet fears in a patient's eyes. I love my community. It has raised me and it is time to give back—holding one hand at a time.

Faith has been the steady anchor in my life, especially after losing my dad to Stage IV pancreatic cancer. As pastor of a church in New Mexico's Four Corners, Dad built bridges across all denominations in our community. During his last hospital stay, he prayed for families passing his room. He lived his life and faith boldly. Dad taught me through simple moments of camping under bright stars and moon, watching wildlife by the fire, his hugs, and "You've got this, Princess" while helping with math or life advice that how you live your life is a deep reflection of who you really are. My dad spent two weeks in the hospital before asking my mom to take him home. There, with hospice, he passed the following day. His death was so sudden and grief overwhelmed me. My grades fell like a stone. I went through the motions of going to school, homework piled up, and honestly, I was failing. I was lost. I had never failed at anything in my life. Then, one day, I reached for his Bible that was still sitting on his desk. A bookmark opened to John 11:25-26: "I am the resurrection and the life... whoever lives and believes in me will never die." Dad believed; I knew where he was. It didn't erase my pain, but I knew I would see him again. He was at peace and was no longer hurting. Faith shifted from questions to quiet comfort. I needed to keep going for him, for Mom, for the life he modeled. It was this comfort and reassurance that helped to push my academic recovery. Counselors and teachers helped me plan. I stayed late, studied through tears, and rebuilt to 3.0921 unweighted/3.4021 weighted GPA. Those numbers may seem average, but are hard-earned proof of dedication in darkness. I know Dad was cheering me on. Faith also shaped my future: hospice nurses' gentle care showed compassion during our family's crisis—mirroring Christ's call to serve. I want to be that registered nurse for Four Corners families, providing clarity and presence to those facing the hardest of times. I know Mom quietly worries about college costs. It is her strength that inspires me to succeed and ease her load. Dad's legacy—faith, service, belief in "his girl"—drives me toward BSN/nursing. I carry him in every hand I'll hold, every family I'll support. Thank you for this chance—faith keeps me moving forward.

I plan to make a positive impact on the world by becoming a registered nurse who provides compassionate care in crises and empowers the next generation of healthcare professionals in my Four Corners community. In the quiet of our home, hospice nurses provided the confident, caring presence that allowed my father's last days with Stage IV pancreatic cancer to be a little gentler. A year later, I found myself spending days by my mother's hospital bedside as she fought to survive a life-threatening pulmonary embolism. One morning, as she trembled before another blood draw, she called for her nurse, Michael. He took her hand and spoke softly, and the fear left her face. In that brief moment, I learned what real nursing should be: not just clinical skills, but empathy, presence, and humanity when people need them the most. The deep personal loss of my father and my mother's frightening hospital experience helped me discover my calling— to become a registered nurse. These experiences settled deep within me and grew stronger during a two-year shadowing and work-based learning program at San Juan Regional Medical Center. I worked with nurses, CNAs, and techs in almost every department. During one shift, I accompanied an accident victim to imaging. As she began to cry during positioning, I reached for her hand, smiled through my mask, and reassured her she was safe and in good hands. She squeezed back and whispered, “Thank you.” It wasn’t planned, it just reminded me of the comfort Michael gave my mother, and I knew I belonged in nursing. My current 3.0921 (unweighted) and 3.4021 (weighted) GPA reflects steady improvement through difficult personal challenges. My time in JROTC built leadership, discipline, and a commitment to service, qualities that will serve me well in fast-paced healthcare settings. Involvement in community events at my church helped sharpen communication and planning skills, which will help me coordinate care on busy floors. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. Most importantly, I will bring a commitment to the young women of our community. After earning my ADN at San Juan College, I plan to organize career events at the various high schools to focus on the next generation of Four Corners girls. I want them to see themselves as nurses, nurse practitioners, and physicians who look like them and have the same life experiences here in the high desert as they do. Through these events, I hope to break barriers for girls facing similar economic or personal challenges, showing them nursing as a path to stability, purpose, and giving back. Having witnessed both the fragility of life and the unmistakable difference one caring nurse can make, I am ready for the codes, long shifts, and tough days. Pursuing my BSN at San Juan College will equip me to remain in the Four Corners region and bring added support to our community's growing healthcare needs. I want to be the compassionate RN who stays calm in crises, notices unspoken fears, and holds hands with genuine care.

Almost eight years ago, my family packed up our life in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and moved to Farmington. It is only a four-hour drive north that felt like I was entering another world. The move wasn’t for a promotion or better weather. See, Dad had accepted the Lord, studied religion, and been ordained. When Kirtland Baptist Church called him to “audition” and then voted him in as pastor, we prayed as a family, and the door opened. Dad believed God had laid this path on his heart, so we followed. At ten years old, the move shattered my world. In Albuquerque, I’d only known private schools. These schools were places of privilege where everyone dressed similarly, came from like backgrounds, and followed the same unspoken rules. Suddenly, I was in public school with kids from every ethnic group, economic reality, and (in my young, judgmental eyes) different moral attitudes. The classrooms looked different, hallways felt stark and cold. I was no longer special. I was just another kid and I was miserable. Homework suffered, I withdrew, and I started blaming Mom and Dad for “ruining” my life. Why couldn’t we stay where things were familiar and easy? It all spilled out in a heated talk with Mom. She listened, then gently but firmly reminded me: Dad wasn’t chasing his dreams; he was following God’s call. As a family, we support each other—even when it’s hard. Her words stung, but they stuck. Around then, I joined the church’s youth group. At first, it was tough. These teens seemed “rough”. Many parents worked long oil-and-gas shifts. The kids dressed and talked differently. I felt so out of place. But slowly, I saw their realness. They shared openly about life’s highs and lows, without "airs". Those differences that once scared me became strengths. The group became my friends—people who showed up just as they were. Then pancreatic cancer took Dad suddenly. My homework coach, best friend, and biggest cheerleader—the one who hugged me and said, “You’ve got this, Princess”—was gone. Grief left me in a thick fog. School felt empty and my grades tanked. My future seemed ruined. For the first time, Dad wasn’t there to help with math or advice. When I finally checked my transcript, I cried. Thankfully, counselors and teachers refused to let me give up. They helped create recovery plans. I stayed after school for extra help, studied late through exhaustion and tears, and fought back. Today, I have a 3.0921/unweighted GPA and 3.4021/weighted. These numbers may seem average to some, but to me, they’re proof of dedication in my darkest time. For every grade point, I pictured Dad smiling down on me and cheering me on. A year later, Mom’s near-fatal pulmonary embolism shattered my fragile outlook on life. Watching her fight, then become our sole provider, showed unbreakable strength. Losing Dad taught me life doesn’t promise forever, but Mom’s survival drove it home. Now, I make sure loved ones know their importance—today, not later. The Farmington community proved its "realness" after Dad’s death. The “rough crowd” I once judged cut our grass, fixed things in our home, and most generously, the church voted to pay Dad’s salary through year’s end. In Albuquerque, support might have been polite and distant; here, it was real and meaningful. Education gave me direction during my loss. Dual enrollment at San Juan College sparked early college credits and purpose. Hospice nurses during Dad’s final days explained things clearly, held space for our grief, and ensured we didn’t feel alone. Their compassion showed why nursing matters. I’m pursuing the BSN through SJC’s NMNEC program with UNM. I will earn my ADN for RN licensure midway, then full bachelor’s—all while living at home. This lets me serve Four Corners families: those working oil fields, raising kids through boom-and-bust cycles, holding each other up in hard times. I want to be the presence they need—overlooked but deserving of clear explanations, comfort, and care. This scholarship would ease Mom’s quiet worries about college costs, letting me focus fully. More than anything, it honors Dad by becoming the nurse he believed “his princess” would be. I want to carry his lessons of strength, gratitude, and service to others. Cancer stole precious time, but it uncovered a hidden purpose. Education turned pain into direction, growth from discomfort, perspective beyond my old ideas of “acceptable,” and home in the people who stay by your side. I don’t want to be anywhere else. I carry Dad in every hand I’ll hold one day, every family I’ll help through their dark times. Thank you for the lessons, the hugs, the belief. I’m ready to give back.

Growing up in Farmington, New Mexico, in the heart of the Four Corners, I've seen the stark contrasts of our high desert landscape and the economic ups and downs of an oil-and-gas-driven community. My parents taught me early on the value of education, lifelong learning, and choosing a career that offers stability, fulfillment, and the chance to give back. Those lessons became deeply personal when loss and illness tested our family. Three years ago, my father passed away at home from stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Hospice nurses provided compassionate care in his final days, explaining what was happening and comforting my mom and me through our worst fears. A year later, my mother survived a life-threatening pulmonary embolism at San Juan Regional Medical Center. I spent every afternoon after school by her bedside. One morning, she trembled at the thought of another blood draw and called for her nurse, Michael. He took her hand, spoke softly, and the fear melted from her face. In that quiet moment, I understood: nursing is more than medicine. It is touch and care when people need it most. That experience sparked a calling, but it was my two-year work-based learning and shadowing program at San Juan Regional that convinced me I belonged in healthcare. I worked alongside nurses, CNAs, and techs across several departments, following orders and helping out wherever needed. During one shift, I helped transport an accident victim to imaging. As the technician positioned her, she began to cry. Without thinking, I reached for her hand, smiled through my mask, and reassured her she was safe and in good hands. She squeezed back and whispered, "thank you." I felt the same spark Michael had given my mom. I knew I belonged in this profession. These moments show how I've lived a life of service so far. In JROTC, I learned discipline, leadership, and the importance of serving others through structure and teamwork. At church, organizing community events sharpened my planning and communication skills, essential for a busy hospital floor. My position as director of the children's choir heightened my desire to include and serve the "least" among us. Most importantly, my hours inside San Juan Regional have shown me service in action: calming scared patients, supporting families in crisis, and meeting needs in a region with challenging healthcare access. After earning my BSN at San Juan College, I plan to become a Registered Nurse right here in the Four Corners. Our community desperately needs local nurses who understand Navajo, Ute, and Hispanic families, who know the economic cycles of boom and bust, and who stay long-term. I want to be the calm presence during a code, the one who sees the fear in a patient's eyes, the one who holds a hand—like the nurses who supported my family Beyond bedside care, I will use my education to reach out to our youth. Growing up here, I've seen talented girls believe healthcare careers are out of reach in our rural area. I plan to organize career events at local high schools. Sharing my path, I can show young women—especially those who look like me and share similar life experiences—that nursing offers stable, respected, meaningful work. This scholarship would ease my education's financial burden, allowing me to focus on my studies. In honoring the nurses who held my family together, I aim to become the nurse who holds others—and ensure girls from Farmington believe they can too. Service isn't something I plan to start. It is how I've already chosen to live, and nursing will let me carry it forward for a lifetime.

Growing up in Farmington, New Mexico, in the heart of the Four Corners, I've seen the stark contrasts of our high desert landscape and the economic ups and downs of an oil-and-gas-driven community. My parents taught me early on the value of education, lifelong learning, and choosing a career that offers stability, fulfillment, and the chance to give back. Those lessons became deeply personal when loss and illness tested our family. Two years ago, my father passed away at home from stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Hospice nurses provided compassionate care in his final days, explaining what was happening and comforting my mom and me through our worst fears. A year later, my mother survived a life-threatening pulmonary embolism at San Juan Regional Medical Center. I spent every afternoon after school by her bedside. One morning, she trembled at the thought of another blood draw and called for her nurse, Michael. He took her hand, spoke softly, and the fear melted from her face. In that quiet moment, I understood: nursing is more than medicine. It is touch and care when people need it most. That experience sparked a calling, but it was my two-year work-based learning and shadowing program at San Juan Regional that convinced me I belonged in healthcare. I worked alongside nurses, CNAs, and techs across several departments, following orders and helping out wherever needed. During one shift, I helped transport an accident victim to imaging. As the technician positioned her, she began to cry. Without thinking, I reached for her hand, smiled through my mask, and reassured her she was safe and in good hands. She squeezed back and whispered, "thank you." I felt the same spark Michael had given my mom. I knew I belonged in this profession. These moments show how I've lived a life of service so far. In JROTC, I learned discipline, leadership, and the importance of serving others through structure and teamwork. At church, organizing community events sharpened my planning and communication skills, essential for a busy hospital floor. My position as director of the children's choir heightened my desire to include and serve the "least" among us. Most importantly, my hours inside San Juan Regional have shown me service in action: calming scared patients, supporting families in crisis, and meeting needs in a region with challenging healthcare access. After earning my BSN at San Juan College, I plan to become a Registered Nurse right here in the Four Corners. Our community desperately needs local nurses who understand Navajo, Ute, and Hispanic families, who know the economic cycles of boom and bust, and who stay long-term. I want to be the calm presence during a code, the one who sees the fear in a patient's eyes, the one who holds a hand—like the nurses who supported my family Beyond bedside care, I will use my education to reach out to our youth. Growing up here, I've seen talented girls believe healthcare careers are out of reach in our rural area. I plan to organize career events at local high schools. Sharing my path, I can show young women—especially those who look like me and share similar life experiences—that nursing offers stable, respected, meaningful work. This scholarship would ease my education's financial burden, allowing me to focus on my studies. In honoring the nurses who held my family together, I aim to become the nurse who holds others—and ensure girls from Farmington believe they can too. Service isn't something I plan to start. It is how I've already chosen to live, and nursing will let me carry it forward for a lifetime.

Two years ago, hospice nurses cared for my father and comforted my mother and me as stage-4 pancreatic cancer took him from us. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw. Her nurse, Michael, walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and calmed her fear. In that moment I understood nursing is not just about medicine—it is presence, courage, and humanity when patients need it most. I decided then that I would become the kind of nurse my parents needed. Growing up in the Four Corners, where oil and gas drive the economy and opportunities for women can feel narrow, I have seen too many talented girls believe healthcare is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and my two-year work-based learning program at San Juan Regional, I have already begun changing that story. I have shadowed nurses in the ER, ICU, labor & delivery, and oncology; I have held hands with accident victims and comforted scared mothers. Every shift strengthens my calling and fuels my mission: to show young women in our rural, fluctuating community that healthcare offers stable, respected, and deeply meaningful careers. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. I will bring discipline drilled into me in JROTC, compassion experienced in real hospital hallways, and the determination of a girl who earned college credits while grieving. Most importantly, I will bring a commitment to the young women of our community. After earning my ADN at San Juan College, I plan to organize career events at the various high schools to focus on the next generation of Four Corners girls. I want them to see themselves as nurses, nurse practitioners, and physicians who look like them and have the same life experiences here in the high desert as they do. Healthcare in our region desperately needs local women who understand Navajo, Ute, and Hispanic families, who know the economic cycles of famine or feast, and who will stay after graduation. I am ready to be one of them. The Valerie Rabb Academic Scholarship would ease the financial burden of tuition and allow me to focus fully on my studies and later, enable me to reach out to women in our community. I want to honor the nurses who held my family together by becoming the nurse who holds the next family together—and by making sure more girls from Farmington believe they can, too.

My dad was the one I turned to for everything: math problems, help studying for tests, and advice about life. We would sit at the kitchen table until I figured it out. Then, as he gave me a hug, he would say, "You've got this, Princess." When pancreatic cancer took him suddenly, the voice that I had depended on all my life was gone. The weeks after his death are still a blur. School felt empty, homework piled up, and my grades fell like a stone. For the first time in my life, my dad wasn't there, and I was completely lost. When I finally looked at my transcript, I just sat and cried. Everything I had worked for seemed ruined. My GPA had dropped, and it felt like my whole future was just slipping away. My counselors and teachers wouldn't let me give up. They sat with me and helped me make plans to improve. Slowly, I found a willpower I didn’t know I had. I stayed after school for extra help, studied late into the night, and slowly, sometimes through tears, fought my way back. Today I have a 3.70 unweighted GPA and a 3.40 weighted GPA. Those numbers may look average to some, but to me they are the product of dedication and hard work during my darkest time. For every grade point I earned, I imagined Dad smiling and cheering me on. My father's passing also showed me why I want to become a nurse. Watching the nurses care for him in his final days, I saw how much caring and skill matter when a family’s whole world is falling apart. Just as the hospice nurses were there for us, I want to be the person who explains things clearly, who holds a hand when words fail or tears fall, and who makes sure no one feels alone. I am applying to nursing programs because I have seen how much good nursing care can mean, and I want to bring that to families in the Four Corners who often feel overwhelmed and overlooked. Since his death, my mom has become the provider for our family. She tries not to let me see her worry, but I know the cost of college weighs on her. Scholarships like this one would help ease that worry and let me focus on my studies instead of thinking about how we’ll make it work. More than anything, by earning my bachelor’s degree in nursing, I can almost hear Dad say he’s proud of “his girl,” and that thought keeps me going every single day. Thank you for giving me the chance to share my story and how his loss continues to push me toward a future of helping others. I will carry him with me in everything I do.

Two years ago, hospice nurses cared for my father as stage-4 pancreatic cancer took him from us. I watched their comforting, competent touch make Dad’s last days gentler. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw. Her nurse, Michael, walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and calmed her fear. Another day, while making late evening rounds, Nurse Clay stopped by my mother’s room and simply asked how she was feeling. Her eyes filled with tears as she admitted she’d been watching her oxygen saturation drop and knew it wasn’t a good sign. Clay didn’t rush in and leave her with medical jargon that leaves families lost. He sat on the edge of her bed and said, “Amy, those are just numbers—numbers we’re watching closely from the station. If anything was truly wrong, we’d already be here.” Then he shared his own story. Years earlier, after a biking accident, doctors told him he’d never walk again. “Look at me now,” he said. “Not only am I walking, I ride marathons, hit the gym every day, and I am working a twelve-hour shift to take care of you.” He ended with the same gentle reminder: “They’re just numbers. Forget about them and get some rest.” The next day, Mom felt better. She had gotten out of bed and sat in the recliner by the window, watching the sunlight spill into the room. In those moments, through my mom’s eyes, I saw what real nursing looks like. It’s not just about medicine, not about monitoring vitals. It is about giving someone hope to believe that tomorrow will be better. It is presence, courage, and humanity when patients need it most. That is what real nursing is —and that’s what I want to be for someone else. I have seen too much to walk away from this calling. Growing up in the Four Corners, where oil and gas drive the economy and opportunities for women can feel narrow, I have seen too many talented girls believe healthcare is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and my two-year work-based learning program at San Juan Regional, I have already begun changing that story. I have shadowed nurses in the ER, ICU, and imaging; I have held hands with accident victims and comforted scared mothers. Every shift strengthens my calling and fuels my mission: to show young women in our rural, fluctuating community that healthcare offers stable, respected, and deeply meaningful careers. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. That’s why I want to be a nurse. Not for the title. Not for stability. But because nursing is where life gets real—where people’s lives rub up against yours, where every shift is life or death, smiles or tears, fear or calm. I’ve seen too much not to care. I’m ready to live in that rawness and leave the kind of mark Michael and Clay left on us—as Nurse Zoe, the one who listened, who cared, who helped someone find hope when it felt impossible.

My dad was the one I turned to for everything: math problems, help studying for tests, and advice about life. We would sit at the kitchen table until I figured it out. Then, as he gave me a hug, he would say, "You've got this, Princess." When pancreatic cancer took him suddenly, the voice that I had depended on all my life was gone. The weeks after his death are still a blur. School felt empty, homework piled up, and my grades fell like a stone. For the first time in my life, my dad wasn't there, and I was completely lost. When I finally looked at my transcript, I just sat and cried. Everything I had worked for seemed ruined. My GPA had dropped, and it felt like my whole future was just slipping away. My counselors and teachers wouldn't let me give up. They sat with me and helped me make plans to improve. Slowly, I found a willpower I didn’t know I had. I stayed after school for extra help, studied late into the night, and slowly, sometimes through tears, fought my way back. Today I have a 3.44 unweighted GPA and a 3.60 weighted GPA. Those numbers may look average to some, but to me they are the product of dedication and hard work during my darkest time. For every grade point I earned, I imagined Dad smiling and cheering me on. My father's passing also showed me why I want to become a nurse. Watching the nurses care for him in his final days, I saw how much caring and skill matter when a family’s whole world is falling apart. Just as the hospice nurses were there for us, I want to be the person who explains things clearly, who holds a hand when words fail or tears fall, and who makes sure no one feels alone. I am applying to nursing programs because I have seen how much good nursing care can mean, and I want to bring that to families in the Four Corners who often feel overwhelmed and overlooked. Since his death, my mom has become the provider for our family. She tries not to let me see her worry, but I know the cost of college weighs on her. Scholarships like this one would help ease that worry and let me focus on my studies instead of thinking about how we’ll make it work. More than anything, by earning my bachelor’s degree in nursing, I can almost hear Dad say he’s proud of “his girl,” and that thought keeps me going every single day. Thank you for giving me the chance to share my story and how his loss continues to push me toward a future of helping others. I will carry him with me in everything I do.

Two years ago, hospice nurses cared for my father as stage-4 pancreatic cancer took him from us. I watched their comforting, competent touch make Dad’s last days gentler. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw. Her nurse, Michael, walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and calmed her fear. Another day, while making late evening rounds, Nurse Clay stopped by my mother’s room and simply asked how she was feeling. Her eyes filled with tears as she admitted she’d been watching her oxygen saturation drop and knew it wasn’t a good sign. Clay didn’t rush in and leave her with medical jargon that leaves families lost. He sat on the edge of her bed and said, “Amy, those are just numbers—numbers we’re watching closely from the station. If anything was truly wrong, we’d already be here.” Then he shared his own story. Years earlier, after a biking accident, doctors told him he’d never walk again. “Look at me now,” he said. “Not only am I walking, I ride marathons, hit the gym every day, and I am working a twelve-hour shift to take care of you.” He ended with the same gentle reminder: “They’re just numbers. Forget about them and get some rest.” The next day, Mom felt better. She had gotten out of bed and sat in the recliner by the window, watching the sunlight spill into the room. In those moments, through my mom’s eyes, I saw what real nursing looks like. It’s not just about medicine, not about monitoring vitals. It is about giving someone hope to believe that tomorrow will be better—it is presence, courage, and humanity when patients need it most. That is what real nursing is —and that’s what I want to be for someone else. I have seen too much to walk away from this calling. Growing up in the Four Corners, where oil and gas drive the economy and opportunities for women can feel narrow, I have seen too many talented girls believe healthcare is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and my two-year work-based learning program at San Juan Regional, I have already begun changing that story. I have shadowed nurses in the ER, ICU, labor & delivery, and oncology; I have held hands with accident victims and comforted scared mothers. Every shift strengthens my calling and fuels my mission: to show young women in our rural, fluctuating community that healthcare offers stable, respected, and deeply meaningful careers. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. That’s why I want to be a nurse. Not for the title. Not for stability. But because nursing is where life gets real—where people’s lives rub up against yours, where every shift is life or death, smiles or tears, fear or calm. I’ve seen too much not to care. I’m ready to live in that rawness and leave the kind of mark Michael and Clay left on us—as Nurse Zoe, the one who listened, who cared, who helped someone find hope when it felt impossible.

My dad was the one I turned to for everything: math problems, help studying for tests, and advice about life. We would sit at the kitchen table until I figured it out. Then, as he gave me a hug, he would say, "You've got this, Princess." When pancreatic cancer took him suddenly, the voice that I had depended on all my life was gone. The weeks after his death are still a blur. School felt empty, homework piled up, and my grades fell like a stone. For the first time in my life, my dad wasn't there, and I was completely lost. When I finally looked at my transcript, I just sat and cried. Everything I had worked for seemed ruined. My GPA had dropped, and it felt like my whole future was just slipping away. My counselors and teachers wouldn't let me give up. They sat with me and helped me make plans to improve. Slowly, I found a willpower I didn’t know I had. I stayed after school for extra help, studied late into the night, and slowly, sometimes through tears, fought my way back. Today I have a 3.44 unweighted GPA and a 3.60 weighted GPA. Those numbers may look average to some, but to me they are the product of dedication and hard work during my darkest time. For every grade point I earned, I imagined Dad smiling and cheering me on. My father's passing also showed me why I want to become a nurse. Watching the nurses care for him in his final days, I saw how much caring and skill matter when a family’s whole world is falling apart. Just as the hospice nurses were there for us, I want to be the person who explains things clearly, who holds a hand when words fail or tears fall, and who makes sure no one feels alone. I am applying to nursing programs because I have seen how much good nursing care can mean, and I want to bring that to families in the Four Corners who often feel overwhelmed and overlooked. Since his death, my mom has become the provider for our family. She tries not to let me see her worry, but I know the cost of college weighs on her. Scholarships like this one would help ease that worry and let me focus on my studies instead of thinking about how we’ll make it work. More than anything, by earning my bachelor’s degree in nursing, I can almost hear Dad say he’s proud of “his girl,” and that thought keeps me going every single day. Thank you for giving me the chance to share my story and how his loss continues to push me toward a future of helping others. I will carry him with me in everything I do.

My dad was the one I turned to for everything: math problems, help studying for tests, and advice about life. We would sit at the kitchen table until I figured it out. Then, as he gave me a hug, he would say, "You've got this, Princess." When pancreatic cancer took him suddenly, the voice that I had depended on all my life was gone. The weeks after his death are still a blur. School felt empty, homework piled up, and my grades fell like a stone. For the first time in my life, my dad wasn't there, and I was completely lost. When I finally looked at my transcript, I just sat and cried. Everything I had worked for seemed ruined. My GPA had dropped, and it felt like my whole future was just slipping away. My counselors and teachers wouldn't let me give up. They sat with me and helped me make plans to improve. Slowly, I found a willpower I didn’t know I had. I stayed after school for extra help, studied late into the night, and slowly, sometimes through tears, fought my way back. Today I have a 3.44 unweighted GPA and a 3.60 weighted GPA. Those numbers may look average to some, but to me they are the product of dedication and hard work during my darkest time. For every grade point I earned, I imagined Dad smiling and cheering me on. My father's passing also showed me why I want to become a nurse. Watching the nurses care for him in his final days, I saw how much caring and skill matter when a family’s whole world is falling apart. Just as the hospice nurses were there for us, I want to be the person who explains things clearly, who holds a hand when words fail or tears fall, and who makes sure no one feels alone. I am applying to nursing programs because I have seen how much good nursing care can mean, and I want to bring that to families in the Four Corners who often feel overwhelmed and overlooked. Since his death, my mom has become the provider for our family. She tries not to let me see her worry, but I know the cost of college weighs on her. Scholarships like this one would help ease that worry and let me focus on my studies instead of thinking about how we’ll make it work. More than anything, by earning my bachelor’s degree in nursing, I can almost hear Dad say he’s proud of “his girl,” and that thought keeps me going every single day. Thank you for giving me the chance to share my story and how his loss continues to push me toward a future of helping others. I will carry him with me in everything I do.

In the quiet of our home, hospice nurses provided the confident, caring presence that allowed my father's last days with stage-4 pancreatic cancer to be a little gentler. A year later, I found myself spending days by my mother's hospital bedside as she fought to survive a life-threatening pulmonary embolism. One morning, as she trembled before another blood draw, she called for her nurse, Michael. He took her hand and spoke softly, and the fear left her face. In that brief moment, I learned what real nursing should be: not just clinical skills, but empathy, presence, and humanity when people need them the most. The deep personal loss of my father and my mother's frightening hospital experience helped me discover my calling— to become a registered nurse. These experiences settled deep within me and only grew stronger during a two-year shadowing and work-based learning program at San Juan Regional Medical Center. I worked with nurses, CNAs, and techs in almost every department. During one shift, I accompanied an accident victim to imaging. As she began to cry during positioning, I reached for her hand, smiled through my mask, and reassured her she was safe and in good hands. She squeezed back and whispered, “Thank you.” It wasn’t planned, it just reminded me of the comfort Michael gave my mother, and I knew I belonged in nursing. My 3.4 (unweighted) and 3.6 (weighted) GPA reflects steady improvement through difficult personal challenges. My time in JROTC built leadership, discipline, and a commitment to service, qualities that will serve me well in fast-paced healthcare settings. Involvement in community events at my church helped sharpen communication and planning skills, which will help me coordinate care on busy floors. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. Most importantly, I will bring a commitment to the young women of our community. After earning my ADN at San Juan College, I plan to organize career events at the various high schools to focus on the next generation of Four Corners girls. I want them to see themselves as nurses, nurse practitioners, and physicians who look like them and have the same life experiences here in the high desert as they do. Having witnessed both the fragility of life and the profound difference one caring nurse can make, I am ready for the codes, long shifts, and tough days. Pursuing my BSN at San Juan College, will equip me to remain in the Four Corners region and bring added support to our community's growing healthcare needs. I want to be the compassionate RN who stays calm in crises, notices unspoken fears, and holds hands with genuine care.

Two years ago, hospice nurses cared for my father as stage-4 pancreatic cancer took him from us. I watched their comforting, competent touch make Dad’s last days gentler. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw. Her nurse, Michael, walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and calmed her fear. While making rounds one late evening, Nurse Clay stopped by my mother’s room and simply asked how she was feeling. Her eyes filled with tears as she admitted she’d been watching her oxygen saturation drop and knew it wasn’t a good sign. Clay didn’t rush in and leave her with medical jargon that leaves families lost. He sat on the edge of her bed and said, “Amy, those are just numbers—numbers we’re watching closely from the station. If anything was truly wrong, we’d already be here.” Then he shared his own story. Years earlier, after a biking accident, doctors told him he’d never walk again. “Look at me now,” he said. “Not only am I walking, I ride marathons, hit the gym every day, and I am working a twelve-hour shift to take care of you.” He ended with the same gentle reminder: “They’re just numbers. Forget about them and get some rest.” The next day, Mom felt better. She had gotten out of bed and sat in the recliner by the window, watching the sunlight spill into the room. In those moments, through my mom’s eyes, I saw what real nursing looks like. It’s not just about medicine, not about monitoring vitals. It is about giving someone hope to believe that tomorrow will be better—it is presence, courage, and humanity when patients need it most. That is what real nursing is —and that’s what I want to be for someone else. I have seen too much to walk away from this calling. Growing up in the Four Corners, where oil and gas drive the economy and opportunities for women can feel narrow, I have seen too many talented girls believe healthcare is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and my two-year work-based learning program at San Juan Regional, I have already begun changing that story. I have shadowed nurses in the ER, ICU, labor & delivery, and oncology; I have held hands with accident victims and comforted scared mothers. Every shift strengthens my calling and fuels my mission: to show young women in our rural, fluctuating community that healthcare offers stable, respected, and deeply meaningful careers. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. That’s why I want to be a nurse. Not for the title. Not for stability. But because nursing is where life gets real—where people’s lives rub up against yours, where every shift is life or death, smiles or tears, fear or calm. I’ve seen too much not to care. I’m ready to live in that rawness and leave the kind of mark Michael and Clay left on us—as Nurse Zoe, the one who listened, who cared, who helped someone find hope when it felt impossible.

It is 2 A.M. in a busy emergency room. A mother and her child have just arrived after a violent car crash. Mom’s injuries look far worse; staff swarm, ordering tests and labs. Yet through her own pain, she fixates on her baby: “Where is he? What’s going on? What are you not telling me?” she begs. Nurse Zoe steps to her bedside, takes her hand, and says quietly but confidently, “Your child is going to be OK. His injuries aren’t life-threatening. I promise—he will be fine. Let’s focus on you right now.” The mother searches Zoe’s calm eyes, and some of the terror ebbs away. Both mother and child will recover. This is my pie-in-the-sky dream—the one that feels huge, almost too big to hold, yet close enough to taste. Two years ago, hospice nurses cared for my father as stage-4 pancreatic cancer took him from us. I watched their comforting, competent touch make Dad’s last days gentler. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. One morning she trembled at the thought of another blood draw; Nurse Michael took her hand, spoke softly, and her fear melted. One late evening, Nurse Clay stopped by during rounds. Mom tearfully admitted she’d been watching her dropping oxygen saturation. Clay didn’t drown her in jargon. He sat on the edge of her bed and said, “Amy, those are just numbers we’re watching closely. If anything was truly wrong, we’d already be here.” He shared how, after his own biking accident, doctors said he’d never walk again. “Look at me now,” he told her, still working a twelve-hour shift to care for her. “Forget the numbers. Get some rest.” The next day, sunlight spilled into the room as Mom sat in the recliner, feeling better. In those moments I saw, through her eyes, what real nursing is: not just medicine or vitals, but giving someone hope that tomorrow can be better. That is who I want to be for someone else. I have seen too much to walk away from this calling. Growing up in the Four Corners, where oil and gas booms come and go and opportunities for women often feel narrow, I’ve watched talented girls believe healthcare is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and my two-year work-based learning program at San Juan Regional, I’m already changing that story—shadowing in ER and ICU, holding hands with accident victims, comforting scared mothers. Every shift fuels my mission to show young women in our rural community that healthcare offers stable, respected, deeply meaningful careers. I will bring more than clinical skills to nursing. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. Nursing, to me, is where life gets real—where people’s lives rub up against yours, where every shift is life or death, smiles or tears, fear or calm. I’ve seen too much not to care. I’m ready to live in that rawness and leave the kind of mark Michael and Clay left—as Nurse Zoe, the one who listened, who cared, who helped someone find hope when it felt impossible.

Two years ago, hospice nurses cared for my father as stage-4 pancreatic cancer took him from us. I watched their comforting, competent touch make Dad’s last days gentler. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw. Her nurse, Michael, walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and calmed her fear. During a late evening during the same hospital stay, Nurse Clay stopped by my mother’s room during rounds and simply asked how she was feeling. Her eyes filled with tears as she admitted she’d been watching her oxygen saturation drop and knew it wasn’t a good sign. Clay didn’t rush in and leave her with medical jargon that leaves families lost. He sat on the edge of her bed and said, “Amy, those are just numbers—numbers we’re watching closely from the station. If anything was truly wrong, we’d already be here.” Then he shared his own story. Years earlier, after a biking accident, doctors told him he’d never walk again. “Look at me now,” he said. “Not only am I walking, I ride marathons, hit the gym every day, and I am working a twelve-hour shift to take care of you.” He ended with the same gentle reminder: “They’re just numbers. Forget about them and get some rest.” The next day, Mom felt better. She had gotten out of bed and sat in the recliner by the window, watching the sunlight spill into the room. In those moments, through my mom’s eyes, I saw what real nursing looks like. It’s not just about medicine, not about monitoring vitals. It is about giving someone hope to believe that tomorrow will be better—it is presence, courage, and humanity when patients need it most. That is what real nursing is —and that’s what I want to be for someone else. I have seen too much to walk away from this calling. Growing up in the Four Corners, where oil and gas drive the economy and opportunities for women can feel narrow, I have seen too many talented girls believe healthcare is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and my two-year work-based learning program at San Juan Regional, I have already begun changing that story. I have shadowed nurses in the ER, ICU, labor & delivery, and oncology; I have held hands with accident victims and comforted scared mothers. Every shift strengthens my calling and fuels my mission: to show young women in our rural, fluctuating community that healthcare offers stable, respected, and deeply meaningful careers. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. That’s why I want to be a nurse. Not for the title. Not for stability. But because nursing is where life gets real—where people’s lives rub up against yours, where every shift is life or death, smiles or tears, fear or calm. I’ve seen too much not to care. I’m ready to live in that rawness and leave the kind of mark Michael and Clay left on us—as Nurse Zoe, the one who listened, who cared, who helped someone find hope when it felt impossible.

Two years ago, hospice nurses cared for my father as stage-4 pancreatic cancer took him from us. I watched their comforting, competent touch make Dad’s last days gentler. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw. Her nurse, Michael, walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and calmed her fear. During a late evening during the same hospital stay, Nurse Clay stopped by my mother’s room during rounds and simply asked how she was feeling. Her eyes filled with tears as she admitted she’d been watching her oxygen saturation drop and knew it wasn’t a good sign. Clay didn’t rush in and leave her with medical jargon that leaves families lost. He sat on the edge of her bed and said, “Amy, those are just numbers—numbers we’re watching closely from the station. If anything was truly wrong, we’d already be here.” Then he shared his own story. Years earlier, after a biking accident, doctors told him he’d never walk again. “Look at me now,” he said. “Not only am I walking, I ride marathons, hit the gym every day, and I am working a twelve-hour shift to take care of you.” He ended with the same gentle reminder: “They’re just numbers. Forget about them and get some rest.” The next day, Mom felt better. She had gotten out of bed and sat in the recliner by the window, watching the sunlight spill into the room. In those moments, through my mom’s eyes, I saw what real nursing looks like. It’s not just about medicine, not about monitoring vitals. It is about giving someone hope to believe that tomorrow will be better—it is presence, courage, and humanity when patients need it most. That is what real nursing is —and that’s what I want to be for someone else. I have seen too much to walk away from this calling. Growing up in the Four Corners, where oil and gas drive the economy and opportunities for women can feel narrow, I have seen too many talented girls believe healthcare is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and my two-year work-based learning program at San Juan Regional, I have already begun changing that story. I have shadowed nurses in the ER, ICU, labor & delivery, and oncology; I have held hands with accident victims and comforted scared mothers. Every shift strengthens my calling and fuels my mission: to show young women in our rural, fluctuating community that healthcare offers stable, respected, and deeply meaningful careers. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. That’s why I want to be a nurse. Not for the title. Not for stability. But because nursing is where life gets real—where people’s lives rub up against yours, where every shift is life or death, smiles or tears, fear or calm. I’ve seen too much not to care. I’m ready to live in that rawness and leave the kind of mark Michael and Clay left on us—as Nurse Zoe, the one who listened, who cared, who helped someone find hope when it felt impossible.

My name is Zoe Nunez, and I am a senior at Piedra Vista High School in Farmington, New Mexico. My dad, my biggest supporter and the person I turned to for everything, passed away suddenly from pancreatic cancer two years ago. Losing him changed every part of my life and continues to shape the person I am becoming. Dad was more than a parent—he was the one I leaned on for everything. Whenever I struggled with math or needed someone to quiz me for a test, he was right there with patience and a belief that I could figure anything out. When the cancer took him so quickly, that voice was gone. The weeks after his death are still a blur. I went to school, but I wasn’t really there. Homework piled up, grades slipped, and for the first time I felt completely lost without him to help me. When I finally looked at my transcript, I was horrified. Everything I had worked for seemed ruined. My GPA had dropped, and it felt like my whole future was fading away. My counselors and teachers refused to let me give up. They sat with me and helped me make plans to improve. Slowly, I found a new kind of strength—one I didn’t know I had. I stayed after school for extra help, studied late into the night, and slowly fought my way back. Today I carry a 3.22 unweighted GPA and a 3.4 weighted. Those numbers may look average to some, but to me they represent strength. For every point I earned, I pictured Dad cheering me on. Dad’s passing also showed me why I want to become a nurse. Watching the nurses care for him in his final days, I saw how much compassion and skill matter when a family’s world is falling apart. I want to be there for others—the person who explains things clearly, holds a hand when words fail, and makes sure no one feels alone in a hospital room. I’m applying to nursing programs because I have seen how much good nursing care can mean, and I want to bring that to families in the Four Corners who often feel overlooked. Since Dad’s death, my mom has become the sole provider for our family. She works tirelessly, but I know the cost of college weighs heavily on her. Scholarships like this one would ease that burden and let me focus on my studies instead of worrying about how we’ll make it work. More than anything, earning my Bachelor’s degree in nursing will honor Dad. I can almost hear him saying he’s proud of “his girl,” and that thought keeps me moving forward every single day. Thank you for giving me the chance to share Dad’s story and how his loss continues to push me toward a future of helping others. I carry him with me in everything I do.

I come from the Four Corners region of New Mexico, where oil and gas jobs rise and fall with the market, and stable employment is never guaranteed. Many families here—including mine—live through cycles of feast and famine. When illness strikes, the financial strain can become crushing. Two years ago, my father died of stage-4 pancreatic cancer under hospice care. A year later, my mother survived a massive pulmonary embolism. I watched nurses become the steady presence my family needed when everything else was falling apart. One nurse, Michael, held my mother’s hand and calmed her fear of a simple blood draw. In that moment I knew I wanted to be that kind of nurse for others—the one who brings courage and humanity when patients need it most. Students from underserved backgrounds deserve the same opportunities as anyone else and their chances shouldn’t be based on zip code or how much money is in their parent’s bank accounts. In my high school, I saw classmates give up on college because tuition felt impossible, because no one in their family had ever done it, or because they didn’t know careers in healthcare were even an option for someone who looked like them. Education should not only be for kids whose parents can afford it; when a student is willing to work hard, there should be a way forward. I have not had an easy path. While grieving my father and helping my mother recover, I still earned college credits through dual-enrollment courses, maintained my grades, and graduated high school ready to start nursing school. JROTC taught me discipline; hospital hallways taught me compassion; and my parents’ illnesses taught me resilience. I kept going because I have to and because I refuse to let circumstance decide my future. The Marcia Bick Scholarship would remove tuition as a barrier and let me focus fully on my BSN at San Juan College instead of juggling multiple jobs and worrying about repayment plans. After I become a Registered Nurse, I intend to stay in the Four Corners and serve Navajo, Ute, and Hispanic families who need providers who understand their language, culture, and economic realities. After I earn my BSN, I plan to organize career events with various area high schools so the next generation of girls from Farmington, Shiprock, and Bloomfield can see that it is possible for nurses, nurse practitioners, and physicians to look exactly like them. This scholarship is more than financial help; it is an investment in a local student who will give back to the community that raised her. By easing the burden now, you offer me more of an opportunity to become the nurse my parents needed—and to make sure more young women from underserved backgrounds believe they can do the same. Thank you for considering my application.

Two years ago, hospice nurses cared for my father as stage-4 pancreatic cancer took him from us. A year later, I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed at San Juan Regional Medical Center while she fought a massive pulmonary embolism. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw. Her nurse, Michael, walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and calmed her fear. In that moment I understood nursing is not just about medicine—it is presence, courage, and humanity when patients need it most. I decided then that I would become the kind of nurse my parents needed. Growing up in the Four Corners, where oil and gas drive the economy and opportunities for women can feel narrow, I have seen too many talented girls believe healthcare is out of reach. Through JROTC, church leadership, and my two-year work-based learning program at San Juan Regional, I have already begun changing that story. I have shadowed nurses in the ER, ICU, labor & delivery, and oncology; I have held hands with accident victims and comforted scared mothers. Every shift strengthens my calling and fuels my mission: to show young women in our rural, fluctuating community that healthcare offers stable, respected, and deeply meaningful careers. As a future Registered Nurse, I will bring more than clinical skills. I will bring the perspective of someone who has sat on both sides of the bed rails—daughter of a dying father and a critically ill mother. I will bring discipline drilled into me in JROTC, compassion experienced in real hospital hallways, and the determination of a girl who earned college credits while grieving. Most importantly, I will bring a commitment to the young women of our community. After earning my ADN at San Juan College, I plan to organize career events at the various high schools to focus on the next generation of Four Corners girls. I want them to see themselves as nurses, nurse practitioners, and physicians who look like them and have the same life experiences here in the high desert as they do. Healthcare in our region desperately needs local women who understand Navajo, Ute, and Hispanic families, who know the economic cycles of famine or feast, and who will stay after graduation. I am ready to be one of them. The Maxwell Tuan Nguyen Scholarship would ease the financial burden of tuition and allow me to focus fully on my studies and later, enable me to reach out to women in our community. I want to honor the nurses who held my family together by becoming the nurse who holds the next family together—and by making sure more girls from Farmington believe they can, too. Thank you for considering me.

My name is Zoe Nunez, and I am a senior at Piedra Vista High School in Farmington, New Mexico. Farmington is in the Four Corners area where we experience the high, rugged desert in stark contrast with the lush mountain foothills. Oil and gas make up the local economy and the area sees the highs and lows of an often fluctuating market. My parents instilled in me the importance of obtaining a good education, the ability to enjoy learning, and the importance of making career choices that could provide a comfortable, fulfilling life. Two years ago, my father passed away at home due to stage 4 pancreatic cancer, cared for in his final days by compassionate hospice nurses. A year later, my mother survived a life-threatening pulmonary embolism. I spent every afternoon after class at San Juan Regional Medical Center with her. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw; she asked for her nurse, Michael. He walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and the fear left her face. In that moment I understood: nursing is not just medicine—it is presence, touch, and humanity when people need it most. That experience started a fire in me, but it was my own experiences that later confirmed that nursing is my calling. Through a two-year shadowing and work-based learning program at San Juan Regional Medical Center, I worked alongside nurses, CNAs, and techs in almost every department. One shift I was taking an accident victim to imaging. As the technician positioned her for scanning, she started to cry. Without thinking, I reached for her hand, smiled through my mask, and told her she was safe and would receive the best care. She squeezed my hand and whispered, "thank you". In that instant I felt the same calling Michael had answered for my mom. I knew I belonged in this profession. My 3.22 GPA is not stellar but reflects steady improvement through some of the hardest years of my life. JROTC drilled leadership, discipline, and service into me. Organizing community events at my church sharpened the planning and communication skills I’ll need on a busy medical floor. Most of all, the hours I have already spent inside the walls of San Juan Regional have shown me what nursing looks like in the real world—especially in the Four Corners. I have seen the incredible impact compassionate nurses have every single day at San Juan Regional, and I want to join them in meeting the growing needs of our Four Corners community. After earning my degree at San Juan College, I hope to stay in the Four Corners and serve as the kind of nurse my parents needed: the one who stays calm during a code, who notices when a patient is scared, who holds the hand and really means it. I am ready to bring my experiences with loss, my hours in the hospital, my determination forged in JROTC and in my mother’s hospital room—and make a difference.

My name is Zoe Nunez, and I am a senior at Piedra Vista High School in Farmington, New Mexico. Farmington is in the Four Corners area where we experience the high, rugged desert in stark contrast with the lush mountain foothills. Oil and gas make up the local economy and the area sees the highs and lows of an often fluctuating market. My parents instilled in me the importance of obtaining a good education, the ability to enjoy learning, and the importance of making career choices that could provide a comfortable, fulfilling life. Two years ago, my father passed away at home due to stage 4 pancreatic cancer, cared for in his final days by compassionate hospice nurses. A year later, my mother survived a life-threatening pulmonary embolism. I spent every afternoon after class at San Juan Regional Medical Center with her. One morning she was trembling at the thought of another blood draw; she asked for her nurse, Michael. He walked in, took her hand, spoke softly, and the fear left her face. In that moment I understood: nursing is not just medicine—it is presence, touch, and humanity when people need it most. That experience started a fire in me, but it was my own experiences that later confirmed that nursing is my calling. Through a two-year shadowing and work-based learning program at San Juan Regional Medical Center, I worked alongside nurses, CNAs, and techs in almost every department. One shift I was taking an accident victim to imaging. As the technician positioned her for scanning, she started to cry. Without thinking, I reached for her hand, smiled through my mask, and told her she was safe and would receive the best care. She squeezed my hand and whispered, "thank you". In that instant I felt the same calling Michael had answered for my mom. I knew I belonged in this profession. My 3.22 GPA is not stellar but reflects steady improvement through some of the hardest years of my life. JROTC drilled leadership, discipline, and service into me. Organizing community events at my church sharpened the planning and communication skills I’ll need on a busy medical floor. Most of all, the hours I have already spent inside the walls of San Juan Regional have shown me what nursing looks like in the real world—especially in the Four Corners. I have seen the incredible impact compassionate nurses have every single day at San Juan Regional, and I want to join them in meeting the growing needs of our Four Corners community. After earning my degree at San Juan College, I hope to stay in the Four Corners and serve as the kind of nurse my parents needed: the one who stays calm during a code, who notices when a patient is scared, who holds the hand and really means it. I am ready to bring everything I have—my experiences with loss, my hours in the hospital, my determination forged in JROTC and in my mother’s hospital room—and pour it into your program. I want to be the nurse this community raises up and then gives back to.

I am applying for the scholarship to support my pursuit of a career in radiology. I am a high school senior with a 3.22 GPA. Living in New Mexico, I am being drawn to a career in radiology, having been inspired by experiences in my family over the past few years. Nearly two years ago, pancreatic cancer claimed my father's life. During the long months of his disease, I saw how radiology was essential in using the technology to guide his doctors in his treatment. Then again, recently, my mother had a medical emergency in which radiology played a critical role in her diagnosis and treatment. By participating in a work-study program at San Juan Medical Center in Farmington, New Mexico, this past year, I have had the opportunity to observe everyday situations in healthcare. These combined experiences have shown me how important it is to have compassionate, highly skilled healthcare professionals. Staffing shortages make it difficult to provide the necessary medical care in the underserved Four Corners Region. Often, patients in this area must travel hundreds of miles for diagnosis and treatment. I know the importance of skilled technologists in the Four Corners Region, and my goal is to complete the radiology program and serve the community with the care and skills that are so desperately needed here. I have witnessed firsthand through my mother’s and father’s hospital treatment the importance of having the skilled technicians available to provide the images so vital to a patient’s initial treatment and ultimately the outcome of their disease or illness. With a strong academic record and involvement in JROTC, the San Juan Regional Medical Center Radiology Shadow Student Program, the San Juan County Work-Based Learning Program, and my local church outreach programs, I am confident that I have shown a dedication to participate and excel in a radiology program so that one day I can effectively serve patients in a healthcare setting. My parents have always emphasized the importance of education, and despite my father’s passing, their encouragement and emphasis on a sound education early in my childhood helped me remain focused on my career and my future. Financially, my family faces challenges. Since my father’s death, my mother has been our sole provider. Mom remains committed to my education goals, but it will be difficult for her, and these challenges have led me to seek opportunities through scholarship programs such as this. This scholarship would provide the additional financial support that I need to allow me to achieve my goal of completing a degree in radiology, thus allowing me the opportunity to take my skills into the world of healthcare, where I hope to one day care for my patients' needs with the care and compassion they need and deserve. Thank you for considering my application. I am eager to contribute to the field of radiology and make a positive impact, and this scholarship would have a positive impact on my journey.

I am applying for the scholarship to support my pursuit of a career in radiology. I am a high school senior with a 3.22 GPA. Living in New Mexico, I am being drawn to a career in radiology, having been inspired by experiences in my family over the past few years. Two years ago, my father passed away from pancreatic cancer. During the long months of his disease, I saw how radiology was essential in using the technology to guide his doctors in his treatment. Then again, recently, my mother had a medical emergency in which radiology played a critical role in her diagnosis and treatment. During this past year, I have had the opportunity to observe everyday situations in healthcare by participating in a shadowing program at San Juan Medical Center in Farmington, NM. These combined experiences have shown me how important it is to have compassionate, highly skilled healthcare professionals. The Four Corners Region is an underserved area where it is sometimes difficult to have readily available the medical care that is needed because of staffing shortages. Patients in this area have to travel hundreds of miles just to be diagnosed and treated. I know the importance of skilled technologists in the Four Corners Region, and my goal is to complete the radiology program and serve the community with the care and skills that are so desperately needed here. I have witnessed firsthand through my mother’s and father’s hospital treatment the importance of having the skilled technicians available to provide the images so vital to a patient’s initial treatment and ultimately the outcome of their disease or illness. With a strong academic record and involvement in JROTC, the San Juan Regional Medical Center Radiology Shadow Student Program, the San Juan County Work-Based Learning Program, and my local church outreach programs, I am confident that I have shown a dedication to participate and excel in a radiology program so that one day I can effectively serve patients in a healthcare setting. My parents have always emphasized the importance of education, and despite my father’s passing, their encouragement and emphasis on a sound education early in my childhood helped me remain focused on my career and my future. Financially, my family faces challenges. Since my father’s death, my mother has been our sole provider. Mom remains committed to my education goals, but it will be difficult for her, and these challenges have led me to seek opportunities through scholarship programs such as this. This scholarship would provide the additional financial support that I need to allow me to achieve my goal of completing a degree in radiology, thus allowing me the opportunity to take my skills into the world of healthcare, where I hope to one day care for my patients' needs with the care and compassion they need and deserve. Thank you for considering my application. I am eager to contribute to the field of radiology and make a positive impact, and this scholarship would have a positive impact on my journey.

I am writing to apply for the Bright Lights Scholarship to support my pursuit of a career in radiology. I am a high school senior with a 3.42 GPA. Living in New Mexico, I am being drawn to a career in radiology, inspired by experiences in my family over the past few years. Two years ago, my father passed away from pancreatic cancer. During the long months of his disease, I saw how radiology was essential in using the technology to guide his doctors in his treatment. Then again, recently, my mother had a medical emergency in which radiology played an important part in her diagnosis and treatment. Recently, I have had the opportunity to observe everyday situations in healthcare while participating in a shadowing program at San Juan Medical Center in Farmington, NM. These combined experiences have shown me how important it is to have compassionate, highly skilled healthcare professionals. My parents have always emphasized the importance of education, and despite my father’s passing, their encouragement and emphasis on a sound education early in my childhood helped me remain focused on my career and my future. Financially, my family faces challenges, as my mother is now the sole provider. She remains committed to my education goals, but it will be difficult for her, and this has led me to seek opportunities through scholarship programs such as this. With a strong academic record and involvement in JROTC, the San Juan Regional Medical Center Radiology Shadow Student Program, the San Juan County Work-Based Learning Program, and involvement in my local church outreach programs, I am confident that I have shown a dedication to participate and excel in a radiology program so that one day I can effectively serve patients in a healthcare setting. The Four Corners Region is an underserved area where it is sometimes difficult to get the medical care that is needed because of staffing shortages. Patients have to travel hundreds of miles just to be diagnosed and treated. I know the importance of skilled technologists in the area, and my goal is to complete the radiology program at Doña Ana Community College and serve the community with the care and skills that are needed here. The Bright Lights Scholarship would provide the additional financial support that I need to achieve my goal of completing a degree in radiology, thus allowing me the opportunity to take my skills into the world of healthcare, where I hope to one day care for my patients' needs with the care and compassion they need and deserve. Thank you for considering my application. I am eager to contribute to the field of radiology and make a positive impact, and this scholarship would have a positive impact on my journey. I will, without hesitation, supply any information that is necessary for my consideration.

Two years ago, my father suffered some medical issues. For the next few years after those medical issues were addressed, he was active, and our daily lives were normal. Slowly, my dad started having more severe pain that he dismissed as a strain. He was so active in bike marathons that he could have possibly injured or strained himself during one of his mountain rides. Unfortunately, the pain became worse, and over-the-counter pain relief was no longer enough. It was a trip to the emergency room that stole my childhood innocence. My dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. My mom and dad did their best to shield me from the horrible truth that was unfolding in our home, but it was not possible to shield me for long. More and more trips to treatment facilities became the norm in our home. Selfishly, I became angry that I was being ignored. My daily life was shattered. I no longer had Mom and Dad to talk to about my daily activities. Everything focused on him. Dad’s pain became increasingly debilitating, and he became weaker and less mobile. I remember the first time he fell. My dad was a husky, muscular man, and my mom couldn’t get him up off the floor by herself. I ran to help, and for the first time, I saw my dad’s grief and sadness at what was happening to him physically. For the first time, I saw his frailty, and that moment changed me. I realized how selfish and self-centered I had been. I began helping my mom and dad every way that I could. I saw how helping more with the daily chores took some of the burden from my mom. I remember one “normal” moment when the three of us made a trip to a local big box store. My dad was in one of the handicap carts, and I walked right beside him, glad that we could be together. It was a simple thing, but a memory I reflect on often. My time with my dad was short after his diagnosis. He was in stage 4, and treatment was not possible. My dad was a pastor, and our home was always filled with prayer for others. I prayed in the solitude of my room for my dad’s pain to be removed. My mom and I prayed together for the miracle that only God can provide. My dad’s last days were in the hospital, and I sat with my mom and watched as scans were done and results discussed. I needed to be a part of what was going on, no matter how difficult it was. I had to let my dad know I was there for him. To say that this was a difficult time in my life is such an understatement. I was at times overwhelmed with grief, anger, and fear. Looking back at some of the moments of those months, I realize that I am now stronger than I thought I could ever be. I am more resilient, as evidenced by my effort to improve and maintain my academic scores. I have also matured in the realization that I am not the center of attention, and I have become more sensitive and aware of the needs of others. I appreciate the opportunity to apply for the SnapWell Scholarship. This scholarship would help with financial obligations incurred in obtaining my degree in a radiology program. Thank you for considering my application.