My maturity has often been praised as a reflection of my character-- however in reality-- it has been a mask for all the challenges life has thrown at me from a young age. I experienced loss when I was just four years old and I struggled to comprehend the complexities of death even as I was still learning what it meant to be alive. Though my father's death didn't mark the end of my childhood, his absence became a gaping hole that woke up my inner survivor. From the day he passed- forward, every milestone, birthday, and father-daughter dance would forever lack the presence of my dad. I began resenting weddings-- in fear that one day I would walk down the aisle alone. I became fearful of my mother's age-- thinking I could lose her too. My life became consumed by worry; at four, and every age that comes afterward I would have become an open wound if it weren't for my Mother's unconditional strength. If I had gotten the chance to know my father, my early memories would not be crowded with images of his funeral and my mom's instinct to step into his father figure position. Her ability to perform the task of not just a mother, but a provider, a leader, and the dad I never got the luxury to know has transformed my grasp on life. I've gotten to know my father from the pictures of him on the walls, the humor that resides in all of his friends, and the stories of life I never bore witness to. I've gotten to see glimpses of him within myself while connecting to my Jewish culture, and every time I look in the mirror I'm reminded that I can never truly be separated from him. My grief has never manifested in anger on Father's Day, or birthdays because I've never gone without the love of two parents. When you lose someone, it's easy to lose track of all the life you have left to live-- instead of getting stuck on the person whose time has ended. My Mother has always been my center of gravity, my road map, and a resource to learn how to tackle every obstacle in my path. Rather than letting death define my academic and social abilities, I have worked every day to redefine my capabilities so I may be defined by what I have done for myself, and not what life has taken away from me. My mother is a tower of light buried six feet below grief-- coming to the United States with hope the clothes on her back and a desire to get ahead; I too now carry the weight of migrants' aspirations and the hope of making my father proud.