Many children experience the universal fear of what lurks in the dead of night or what monster might even be under their bed while sleeping. I, too, had this same anxious feeling growing up. However, my protectors from these monsters were the very ones hiding under my bed: my parents.
My early childhood was marked by a significant challenge that continues to, in a way, influence me today. How do I keep fighting when the complex chains of grief shackle my hands? I mourn my parents every day, though they are not dead. Unlike my peers, I was born into an unconventional family structure, lacking the presence of parental figures. I was just shy of my fifth birthday when I wrote a letter to my so-called dad, as he was incarcerated at the time, questioning why he was not in my life. Though he did not answer, that was an answer within itself. From an early age, my father has grappled with alcoholism, constantly finding himself in trouble. However, he was not always this way. I frequently find myself wondering what it would have been like to know my father before addiction. I wish that I could have met him at my age as the boy who helped his brother re-learn how to walk after surviving a dirt bike accident, or as the neighbor who taught the six-year-old girl across the street how to ride her bike after her father had just died. I would have done anything to change the course of life that he took, but I now find myself grieving the man who could have been, and what he could have accomplished not only as a father, but as a brother, son, and husband.
This absence, my father’s alcoholism, coupled with my mother’s struggles with drug addiction, led to my untimely birth with neonatal abstinence syndrome. This condition, a consequence of my mother’s substance abuse during pregnancy, meant that I was born dependent on drugs and experienced withdrawal symptoms. Being born under these conditions has left me with underlying behavioral issues and problems with short-term memory and properly forming sentences when conversing with others. Once my father discovered my mother had given birth, he checked himself into a rehab facility to escape his consequential actions. Unfortunately for him, this plan did not work.
I would like to think of myself as a surprise Christmas present to my family, as I was born just 15 minutes into the day after the widely celebrated holiday. On December 27, 2007, my mother showed up at my paternal grandparent’s front doorsteps. Not knowing who I was, they were unaware of who my mother was and why she was there. It was a surprise to my whole family. Unknowing what to do next, I went to live with my mother and her then-boyfriend as my grandparents awaited a DNA test to prove that I was truly my father’s child.
However, this arrangement did not last long. Unfortunately, my mom turned back to drugs. This time, the effects were not only visibly damaging to those around her but also to her firstborn daughter. By the time Child Protective Services took me away to foster care, she had not only broken my arm at 4 months old but had made an incision across the entire right side of my body forcing me to get immediate surgery just shy of turning 6 months. While this time in my early life might sound life-shattering and forever damaging, little did I know, this was the best outcome for me. While I was taken away to foster care, during the 5 months I spent in the system, my grandparents were fighting for custody of me. Monday, September 29, 2008, is the day my life truly began, as that is when my grandparents became my legal guardians.
However, the early diagnosis of potential developmental delays and the persistent fear of succumbing to addiction cast a long shadow over my formative years. I have since proven the doctor’s initial assessment wrong, achieving academic success and personal growth. Not knowing whether I would be mentally and/or physically challenged, I am now an honor roll student with a 4.0 GPA. Considering the circumstances of my life, I am immensely proud of my resilience and the progress I have made. The unwavering support of my grandparents has been nothing short of a lifeline, providing me with everything I could ever need. Receiving this scholarship would enable me to give back to my grandparents who have spent every last penny on me, literally. As I am older, they have since retired and are living entirely off of Social Security, making the demanding expenses of college worrisome. Any amount of money that goes into my future endeavors counts. With all being said, I have since come to realize that the true guardians against the lurking monsters were never meant to be my biological parents, but rather a devoted couple who would selflessly give the shirts off their backs to anyone in need. My grandparents have been my night light guiding me, all along, in the right direction, even when I could not see in the dark and was scared of what might have been under my bed.