Sama M

It wasn’t desiderium that worried me most, it was the fear of forgetting my own father. Being five years old when he passed away as a victim of war made it almost feel normal, as every person in Iraq back then had braced themselves for the inevitable loss of a family member during those times. Being displaced from one city to another, then from country to country, meant suppressing many things to adapt to whatever home we moved into, whatever social norms we needed to acclimate to. But regardless of how deeply that grief was suppressed, it still found ways to surface. Structural denial took hold of me for years, built on the fact that I had no memories of my father.

Fear blinded me to the support around me: the friendships from school, my mother’s constant invitations for help, and family friends bringing food and furniture. I overlooked my sister managing legal issues and my uncle’s financial and emotional backing. My mother seamlessly took on two parental roles, embodying strength, patience, and love, serving as my first example of these qualities.

That foundation shaped my character by shifting my perspective from what was missing to appreciating what remained. Realizing others shared similar struggles instilled a sense of connection within me, illustrating that resilience can help overcome conflicts. My father’s loss initially felt limiting, but acceptance emerged as I focused on preserving the memories spoken of him by my family. I grew closer to my siblings and made daily efforts to communicate with my mother.

This awareness followed me into school, where a friend’s encouragement opened my eyes to new possibilities and helped me feel seen. Recognizing that others faced their own invisible battles in a predominantly white community made me take the path to co-found and lead the Muslim Student Association in high school for three years, fostering a sense of belonging for others.

Childhood grief is more nuanced than society often has time for, and accepting that my life had to continue despite the weight of it is something I only recently came to peace with.

These experiences have guided my academic and career aspirations. Seeing how many medical positions work behind the scenes without patient interactions often makes it seem less important in the patient care process; however, understanding how each medical assessment and laboratory work can save lives has inspired me to pursue a similar path. I am honored to start my education at the University of Toronto Mississauga, where I am enrolled in the Life Science program. This possibility represents not only a significant milestone but also an affirmation of the strength and perseverance that have brought me this far.

Curtis R

When I was 12, a huge part of my life left this earth.

My Dad struggled for many years with mental illness and attempted suicide in 2020. This attempt caused life altering injuries and landed him in the hospital in a coma, with various surgeries trying to save him. We waited for updates daily which was extremely difficult for all of us. Unfortunately, the Dr’s were not successful, and he succumbed to his injuries 10 weeks later and passed away. 

I remember being pulled out of school when this happened to go see him one last time. Grabbing someone’s lifeless hand that I cared so much was devastating. I was too young to understand why he would leave us like this. It left me very confused and missing him more than anyone can understand.

When I was little, my dad was a happy guy, always supportive and our biggest fan at all sporting events. Over the years, he changed, abusing drugs and alcohol to cope with his mental illness, which at the time I believed was mostly caused by his job, and irregular sleeping hours. He drove a snow plow for a neighbouring region which took him away from us for many winters, being on call and working nights, even missing many Christmas’ days due to the weather. But he was still my dad. He was too proud to go to therapy and hid his illness from all of his family and friends. My mother tried to get him to go to therapy, but he wouldn’t and his side of the family was in denial, so they were not helpful at all. My mom wanted him to get well so that he could be a better father, but he treated her poorly, so she had asked him to leave for our safety as he had started having manic episodes that scared all of us. He did have times when he was ‘normal’ and we try to cherish those moments the most. Then he had these episodes where he came home and was verbally abusive and just causing problems. He never got the support he needed. It’s sad that there isn’t much help out there for mental illness.

His death impacted my life greatly. It was during covid so there wasn’t much support I could get from school friends, so I kept to myself a lot. I did go to therapy for a while which helped as a restorative process for my future mental wellbeing. 

Abigail S

On November 10, 2025, in the early morning, I heard my sister scream a blood-curdling scream, I will never forget. I ran downstairs and went outside where I saw my Dad lying on the driveway, blue and unresponsive. For a moment, I lost feeling in my legs, and I collapsed in the doorway. My mother said, “Abigail, we need to help Dad,” and then instinct took over. My sister and I are both lifeguards, trained in CPR-C and First Aid. My sister began compressions, and I began rescue breaths to resuscitate him. The minutes are etched into my mind with such definition that I cannot erase them. This moment when my family’s world imploded is on replay in my mind, this slow-motion video of our desperate actions, our silent prayer and our fierce determination to save my Dad.

I remember the fear in our voices, the sounds of the compressions, the neighbors, just every small detail, that I wish I had never lived and could be forgotten. Through it all I never gave up, I kept trying, just like my Dad always taught me, “just give it your best, try again you’ll get it, no matter how hard things get.”

When the ambulance, police, and firefighters arrived we watched their tireless efforts to help. They took him to the ambulance and the doors closed. I stood outside telling them to let me in, that I could help. The ambulances slowly pulled away from our drive, taking Dad with them to the hospital. Our neighbor our drove us to the Georgetown Hospital to wait and hope. Sitting in the waiting room felt like an eternity. Eventually, a doctor came in to tell us he had no brain activity and we would need to let him go. We were asked to come in and say goodbye. I walked into a room with nurses still doing chest compressions and with so many nurses flanking the sides of the walls in the room. How to say goodbye? I hugged my Dad and I thanked him for being the best Father I could ever have asked for and I told him how much I loved him. As we left the room in tears we walked past so any nurses who were also weeping joining us in our sorrow.

My Dad worked as a Heavy Duty Mechanic Truck and Coach Technician. He loved his job and he was always working and talking to everyone and did his very best to put others first. His love language was gift-giving. So often when we heard the front door open, we would run downstairs to greet him and so regularly he would have a little treat or gift he had brought home. Whether it was food, a new snack that we had never tried, or chocolate, he always made sure we felt loved. He was a Dad of compliments. He would tell us how great we looked each morning and how lucky he was to be our Dad. To my Dad we were perfect.

A week after his funeral service the men from his work had to come to take his company truck away. In the unpacking of the vehicle we found Christmas gifts he had pre-purchased for us hidden in his various toolboxes. Mom wrapped them and we opened them on December 25, 2025. That was my Dad, he was always planning little surprises and thinking of us. As a result, we had gifts from him for our first Christmas without him. He consistently taught me to make the best out of the worst situations and to always stay true to myself.

Growing up, I faced many health challenges and was diagnosed with kidney disease, autoimmune conditions, severe asthma, and CAPD. Each year, I spent time in hospitals for varying appointments, and during those times I begin to truly appreciate and respect the care and dedication the nurses and doctors who cared for me and so many others showed. Their compassion and strength inspired me, and I knew I wanted to pursue nursing. I would talk to my Dad for hours about my dream of becoming a nurse and my plans post high school. He always listened and complimented me, and believed in me completely.

My Dad passed away just one day before I received my first acceptance letter to nursing. I have since accepted my offer to the Bachelor of Science in Nursing program at George Brown College as it is close to home. It has been incredibly difficult knowing he won’t be there to see me graduate High School, graduate nursing eventually or see who I marry or my children. At the same time, I know he is the reason I will achieve all those things. He is the reason I never give up. He said, “Live your life so that you have no regrets when you sit at 80 in your rocking chair.” He is the reason I do these things. 

In my grief journey, I have become more focused on what really matters and what doesn’t. Loving and helping people and families matters profoundly. I feel I am resilient and understand how my Dad was modeling what matters and how to treat family and others. I will attempt to follow his example as I move forward in my life without him. In my heart I feel his strength and encouragement to build my future. I carry his lessons with me every day, and I hope to honor him through my future as a nurse, caring for others with the same strength, compassion, and dedication that he embodied in his own life. I hope to be able to save lives, save Dad’s, Mom’s and children so that many families get to enjoy more time together.

Taylor J

I know what it is like to lose someone you love. You don’t get past something like that, you learn to get through it.

On March 29th, 2016, I lost my father to stage 4 colon cancer. I was only eight years old at the time, and I didn’t fully understand what was happening and how it would affect my future. I cherished my relationship with my father. All a little girl wants is her fathers attention; to play with him, spend time with him and just simply be around him, but what I didn’t know is how long my father battled this disease and how much strength it took him to keep fighting.

One memory that has stayed with me is the day he was taken to the hospital. It was Easter morning and I remember being excited about what the easter bunny had brought me as well as the fact my father was too weak to come downstairs. I got a purple VTech watch that day, the one every kid wanted. Later that day, I went outside to play with the kids on my street, and not longer after, an ambulance pulled into our driveway. I watched as my father was taken away on a stretcher. When I visited him in the hospital, he was hooked up to multiple large breathing tubes. Not knowing the severity of all this, I asked my father if I could take a picture of him with my new watch. For me, he took off his breathing tubes so I could take that photo. Two days later he passed away. To this day, I have not found the watch, I regret not taking care of it but that photo remains in my memory.

After his passing, life felt like a blur and everything reminded me of him. I found it difficult to watch others spend time with their fathers, knowing I no longer had that. Since I lost my father at such a young age, the weight of that loss began to resurface as I grew older, I started to understand what that meant. I noticed I would often compare myself to others. Why me? Everyone else has their fathers, why can’t I have mine? I felt a mix of emotions and at times, I couldn’t comprehend why I felt so much anger. Maybe it is because he wouldn’t be there for moments I know I will miss him the most, such as seeing me graduate, going off to university and even walking me down the aisle one day.

I eventually understood that being resilient meant learning to cope with my fathers passing rather than forgetting him or moving on. I learned how to deal with my feelings instead of ignoring them, even if they were confusing. However, there were times when I felt overwhelmed and upset but I kept going. I have always carried my father’s advice with me, he would encourage me to work hard and follow my heart. Figure skating has been something I have been passionate about since I can remember, it gives me a sense of meaning and purpose in difficult moments. Becoming a figure skating coach helped me discover my passion for working with children and inspired me to pursue a career in education. This September, I will be entering my first year at Brock University in the Concurrent Education program, where I will be studying Child and Youth Studies as I work toward my goal of becoming an elementary school teacher.

My resilience comes from the ability to keep going even when it may be difficult. It comes from using my pain as motivation and allowing my fathers courage to guide me. Although he is no longer with us, his message continues to shape the person I am becoming. Sharing my story has always been difficult, but it represents the strength I have built over time. Through my grief, I have learned resilience is not about overcoming loss but about growing with it and continuing to move forward.

Madison S

My father passed away from pancreatic cancer on August 30, 2024. He was diagnosed on June 20 of that same year, so everything happened incredibly fast. In just over two months, my family went from trying to understand the diagnosis to having to accept that he was gone. There was no long warning period, no years to prepare, and no easy way to process how quickly life changed. Before his diagnosis, I never imagined losing my dad that soon. When someone is part of your everyday life, it is hard to picture the world without them in it. After June 20, everything became doctors, appointments, difficult conversations, and trying to stay strong even when none of us really knew what was coming next. Pancreatic cancer did not give us much time. It moved quickly, and watching my father go through that was one of the hardest things I have ever experienced.

The most difficult part was how helpless it felt. I wanted to fix it, or at least do something that could make it better, but there are situations in life where effort and love are not enough to change the outcome. I had to learn how to be present, how to support my family, and how to keep going even when everything felt uncertain. Losing my dad taught me how fragile life can be, but it also taught me how important it is to make something meaningful out of the time we do have. After his passing, I had to figure out how to move forward. Grief does not disappear just because school, work, and responsibilities continue. There are still days where it feels heavy, especially when I think about the moments he will not be here for. He will not get to see me graduate, start my career, or build the future I have been working toward. That is something I still carry with me.

In May 2025, less than a year after losing him, I enrolled at Sheridan College in the Software Development and Network Engineering program. Starting college after such a major loss was not easy, but it gave me a direction to focus on. I knew I needed to keep building my life, even while dealing with grief in the background. Since starting the program, I have worked hard to stay committed to my studies and develop skills in programming, databases, networking, and software development.

I will be starting my fourth semester in September 2026, and that milestone means a lot to me. It represents more than just getting through courses. It represents choosing to keep moving forward after a year that changed my life completely. There were times when it would have been easier to slow down or let the loss take over, but I kept showing up. I kept learning, completing assignments, working through difficult concepts, and trying to build a future that my dad would have been proud to see.

My interest in technology comes from wanting to create useful things and solve real problems. Software development challenges me in a way that keeps me focused and motivated. Whether I am working through code, learning about systems, or building projects, I enjoy the process of figuring things out. That mindset has helped me in school, but it has also helped me deal with grief. I have learned that progress is not always quick or easy. Sometimes it is just about taking the next step, even when things feel overwhelming. Losing my father has changed the way I see life. I do not take opportunities for granted the same way I might have before. I understand how quickly things can change, and that has made me more serious about my goals. It has also made me more independent, more focused, and more aware of the kind of future I want to create for myself and my family. This scholarship would mean a great deal to me because it would support me as I continue my education and work toward a career in software development and technology. It would help reduce some of the financial pressure that comes with being a student and allow me to keep focusing on my studies, projects, and long-term goals.

My father’s passing is something I will always carry with me. I want it to be part of the reason I keep going, work hard, and build a life that reflects the strength my family needed during that time. I know my dad would have wanted me to keep moving forward, and that is what I am trying to do.

Aoibhe M

My name is Aoibhe. I am a twenty-two-year-old student currently studying towards my undergraduate degree in Environmental Design at OCAD University in Toronto. I have just completed my third year of studies and am incredibly passionate about the work I am completing under the guidance of my professors. I am currently applying for this scholarship in the aftermath of the loss of my mother and best friend.

In May 2025, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. From that moment on, our lives completely shifted. As the only child to a single mother, I worked effortlessly to support and care for her in any way possible. I consistently drove her to weekly medical appointments, managed the daily responsibilities of our household, bought groceries, all in an attempt to care for her as much as I possibly could, as I hoped to ease her burden while continuing to stay dedicated to my studies and working part-time. I could tell that she worried about how much responsibility was being put on me, but I would do it ten times over if it meant it took weight off of her.

Her diagnosis was caught extremely early with very little concern, and the treatment was set only as a precaution to ensure the cancer wouldn’t come back. However, on February 27th, 2026, just one week before she was set to complete her treatment, my mother decided to take her own life. Her death was so unexpected and just completely devastating, and it has changed every part of my life. As a single parent, she was my sole provider, and I am now navigating both grief and a level of financial uncertainty I was not prepared for. Despite this, I made the decision to finish my semester at OCAD. I had the option to withdraw, but I chose to continue, and I completed all my courses with strong grades. I still don’t fully understand how I managed it, only that I felt such a strong responsibility and drive to continue forward for both myself and my mom. That experience showed me a kind of resilience I didn’t know I had.

Even though I don’t always feel this way, so many people have reminded me repeatedly of how strong and resilient I am through all of this. I wake up everyday and try to be the best version of myself I can be even though my world is truly crumbling around me. Losing my mom has been the hardest thing I have ever had to go through and I really don’t know how I am supposed to get through it, but I have to remind myself that everyday I am, one day at a time. My mother was always the brightest light in any room, she extended our home to anyone who walked through our front door, and set such a beautiful example of what a mother, friend and human person should be. I can’t quite put into words how utterly heartbreaking this loss has been, but I live everyday surrounded by mine and her friends, trying to live my life guided by the example she showed me everyday we had together. I am a different version of who I was a day after, a week after, and now two months after. I have accomplished so much and stayed as strong as I could and I believe I owe myself that recognition.

Financially, this transition has been incredibly difficult. She was a single parent and my sole provider, I heavily depended on her and as a student with a small part-time job I am extremely scared and unprepared. We overall were a low income family, we shared a car which has now been taken away from me as I cannot afford it on my own. I am scared for my financial future but I am determined to stay dedicated to completing my last year of my undergraduate degree to make a better life for myself. A very close friend of mine sent me the link to this scholarship and it would truly help me to remain in school and work towards completing my degree during an incredibly difficult, scary and uncertain time.

Sarah M

My father died of ALS in 2016. I grew up a full daddy’s girl, always coming home excited to see him sitting in the same spot every afternoon, like clockwork. It was just my routine and wasn’t weird to me. When he passed, it felt like my entire life was uprooted like a tree and moved to a brand-new area. It was terrifying, but it was the first time I was told what grief felt like. When it was actually explained to me, I realized I was grieving him before the machines turned off. No one talks about how it feels living with someone who has an incurable disease, especially one as aggressive and harmful as amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. He was diagnosed when I was 2. Growing up knowing the person who helped create you, wanted to help raise you, and was your favourite person in the world wasn’t supposed to make it to see your 6th birthday—let alone your 8th—is a hard pill to swallow for anybody. Being resilient isn’t something I wanted to do, but I did, and it made me into the best person I can be.

I’m not perfect, and some days are better than others, but I got through it. I chose, every day, with the incredible help of my family and friends, to keep going and continue pushing through even on the bad days, even when everything was hard. My mother has been an extremely big help with that, always pushing me forward, never judging me for feeling bad or forcing me to get over things. As I started middle school, my peers’ favourite insult to use against me always had something to do with how I didn’t have a dad. That hurt a lot, more than I care to admit. I was constantly jealous of them because they had what I didn’t. They had someone there; they had their fathers, and it felt so unfair to me for so long that I was angry and distracted all the time. Slowly, I learned how to feel my emotions without letting them build up and make me angry. I learned to accept the fact that I can’t change what happened and that it wasn’t my fault.

Now I’m attending Guelph-Humber in the fall for Early Childhood Studies and taking a specialty in infant and child mental health. My father’s death has broken and helped me in so many different ways. As I grow into my person, I know that although his death was the hardest thing I’ve been through, it was also the most important part of me. His legacy will never die because it lives within me every day. I’m determined to keep growing and living, even when it’s tough, to take it day by day, understand that sometimes things make you tick and some days are just hard, and most importantly, I hope to make a difference for other individuals who are struggling with grief and need to know they’re not alone in how they feel.

Lauren C

The last time I saw my dad was in a hospital bed, attached to more tubes than I could count. Our favourite song “Fade into you” played as I said my last goodbye. Just one week earlier, he had been diagnosed with stage 4 melanoma. I was 15 years old, and in a matter of days, my entire life changed.  

I remember first hearing of his diagnosis. My family and I were supposed to go to Cuba for vacation the following week. However, we had to cancel our trip so my dad could start chemotherapy. That was ok, I thought to myself, as long as my dad was ok. I was so worried, but I consoled myself with the thought that something like this would never happen to me. Chemotherapy worked for others, so it would work for my dad. 

Unfortunately the following week, all of my fathers organs began to fail. My family and I sat in the hospital in despair. Almost every 30 minutes he had to be resuscitated, until finally we had to make the decision to let him go. Looking back on that time, I try to just remember how kind all the nurses were. They were the best support system I could’ve asked for at that time, and made that insufferable day a little bit better. Because of that, I have decided to go to school for nursing, so maybe one day, I can do the same for others. 

The months following his death were some of the worst months of my life. My mother was having a really hard time grieving, and barely left her bed, and my brother and I were left to take on responsibilities no teenager should have to take on. We did our own grocery shopping, cooked our own meals, and overall had to grow up really quickly. It took me about a month to gain the courage to go back to school. It felt like everyone knew what had happened, and that first few days back, all eyes would be on me. Not only that, but I also felt like there was no point. I had gone through something so terrible, and now I have to go back to sitting at a desk, in a small classroom, like nothing ever happened. Luckily my school was very supportive, and made my transition back to school a little easier.

Now I am 18 years old, and heading off to the University of Brock in a few months. I can finally see myself having a future, and my life did not infact end that day, although it felt like it, and kind of still does. I still think about my dad everyday, and how different my life would be if he was still here. Thinking that he won’t see me graduate, walk me down the aisle, or meet his future grandkids runs through my mind all the time. I carry my dad with me in everything I do, and although I lost him far too soon, his strength continues to guide me to keep moving forward and create a future he would be proud of.