This week, I was accepted into my top school on my list of colleges. My mother didn't get to see me get excited and almost cry as I told everyone about it, and she won't get to see many milestones after this one. Below is an essay I wrote about her and how she has made me stronger even though she wasn't here.

Losing a parent is like a forceful push into adulthood. As a twelve-year-old girl, I lost my role model and my best friend. I lost a piece of myself. But with losing a piece of yourself, you heal and become stronger. There are always times I say to myself, “I wish Mommy was here.” I said that at my first chorus recital and at the first gala a piece of my art was in, and inevitably, I will say it at the end of this year when I graduate from high school. Although it is a monumental loss, it has taught me so many things about life, most importantly strength and the importance of my family.

It was October, and the air finally had the autumn chill that everyone craves, which meant that my dad’s family camping trip was finally upon us. That fateful Saturday, my siblings and I had gotten up early to start the fire and explore the campground. It was around 4:00 when I climbed up the exposed soil to get to the campsite where my dad and stepmom were sitting by the fire. As I headed back toward the beach, my dad told me that my mom was not doing well at the hospital. I brushed it off; she had been in the hospital before, and she had always come back out. I was sure I would be back with her the next week. I had just seen her two days ago! She seemed just fine; they were even moving her out of the ICU! What I did not understand at the time was that my mother had been essentially dying for the last three years, fighting through stage 4 lung cancer. The air grew crisper as the sun disappeared behind the trees and the sky seemed unnaturally blue. Blue was her favorite color. As my brothers, sisters, and I climbed back up to the campsite for dinner, we noticed that my mom’s two best friends had arrived. Looking back, I should have known, but for three years I had never believed it would happen. I do not remember much of the conversation other than “Your mom is in heaven now.”

Strength is relative, and I believe my strength came straight from my mother. Mommy had no concept of weakness. When they told her she would live for six months, she went on and lived for three years after her diagnosis. That kind of strength is something that is instilled in children of cancer patients, and I know it is the only reason my brother and I are the people we are today. That strength has helped me in so many ways in the years since and has even gotten me out of the most emotionally unhealthy environment I have ever been in. Not a day goes by that I do not think of her, but not a day goes by when I do not have a happy memory or a smile because I am stronger than my sadness.

My brother and I have always been close. We did everything together as kids, and we have an unnaturally low number of fights. When our mother died, our whole lives changed, from where we lived most of the time to where we went to school. Even as teenagers, we were the closest of all of our siblings. Some may say it’s the shared blood, but for me it will always be our mother’s spirit. What losing someone close to you teaches is that you can never appreciate someone enough, and I try to cherish my little brother everyday.

The death of my mother will never be something I look back on happily, but so many good things have happened since. I have grown from what I’ve lost, and I’m proud to say I’m a better, stronger person because of her.