A Year of Loss by Kathleen

A Year of Loss by Kathleen - December 2022 Scholarship Essay

I hate the letter “s''. Its ability to alter the meaning of words, simply by existing as the last letter, is ludicrous. The power the English language has given this incomplete “8” is ridiculous, especially considering more than 23% of the population is affected by a lisp. Furthermore, the regulations on making a word plural are lengthy and too hard to comprehend, even for the most native English speaker.  But most importantly, the 19th letter in the alphabet no longer applies to the familial terminology I long to use: parents.

August 31st, 2021—a date that’s been permanently engraved in my memory as the last “normal” day. On this day, the cough, fever, and stuffy nose that my brother had possessed for the past week was transferred to my high-risk, 67-year-old father. The sound of rattling fluid, the smell of grape cough medicine, and the fear consumed me. Finding myself was no longer my only focus, but instead, taking care of my mother and father—while handling my brother’s feelings of guilt—became my life. My responsibilities increased from non-existent to fulfilling a parental role in a matter of weeks. When my father lost his battle with COVID on October 7th, this change became permanent.

Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that my time with my parents was limited. My mom had me when she was 38, and my father was 52, making me the girl with the old parents. Since I was the first child, I naturally took on a mature role compared to my younger brother, but sometimes I wonder how much this birth order shaped me. Being raised as “the eldest”—a title earned solely because I was delivered 2 in ½ years before my brother—came without a terms and conditions contract. Failing to disclose the expectations and duties, this inherited description defined my life from the moment my parents came home with a baby boy. Switching from the “pride and joy” of the family to the “other” child, was not detrimental, considering I was only 2; however, my mind occasionally finds pleasure in imagining the possibility of being second—Imagining no longer feeling obligated to be perfect, or having to carry my family’s burdens, or best of all, shedding my “fixer” complex.

When my father passed, this “fixer” complex took on a role of its own. Instead of taking the time to grieve the death of my role model properly, I projected my emotions into helping others. Rather than letting others in, I continued to plaster on a smile. But the smile faded each time I looked into the mirror and saw my father’s nose or heard him cheering at my brother’s football games, or pronounced my vowels in a New Jersey accent– despite never being a resident there myself. I struggled to keep my life balanced, causing my values to change, along with my personality. At first, this felt detrimental. I was like a turtle without its shell—scared, alone, and helpless; however, I refused to be defined by these characteristics. I transformed the narrative, and strove for excellence, pushing myself harder than ever before.

This life-changing experience caused me to lose my former self, but it allowed me to become the person I am today. Reflecting on the past year, I never could have imagined my August 30th, 2021 self achieving so much. Academically, I prevailed, but personally, I blossomed into a young adult fueled by perseverance, empathy, compassion, and humility.