I begged to take their place, slipping back into bargaining. Then hubby got diagnosed with tuberculosis and I was afraid I was going to lose him too.

The guilt for surviving has been a heavy weight. "Why am I still here?" Then, I ended up on college campus when I realized that my journey here was going to be extended. Something needed to be done while I was "waiting to see" like the doctors said. So, while we were waiting I figured some classes to gain a little knowledge made sense.

Entering the PierceWorks! program, I was lost, depressed, angry and bitter. I was frustrated that I couldn't just jump into a UNIX class. Then, as someone shared about their family values and the history behind their values, out of the blue I started crying. Not weeping. Full on crying.

It was as if the losses, all of the losses that had been experienced came flooding through. I finally broke.

Then, I slowly began the path of navigating back to who I needed to be because, obviously, I was still here. After I graduated the PierceWorks! program, the desire for an education was fueled. It turned from taking a UNIX class into getting a degree. What if I can cross that stage for once in my life? What if all of those years of disappointing mother with failing to graduate can be my tribute and a patch over the wound of not living up to her expectations? What if this can be the one last thing that I can check off my bucket list?

There are no guarantees in life. We never really know what tomorrow will bring. As I journeyed back to myself, I watched several family members and spouses grieve for their losses. I was without the words to express how sorry I was and the guilt for being alive was immeasurable.

After realizing that I was more than passing my Algebra classes and getting 4.0 grades and making the President's list, I realized that I was capable of much more than I ever gave myself credit for. The professor of PierceWorks! knew. As did several of my cohorts in PierceWorks!. They saw something I did not and by the time I finished with my second degree, it dawned on me what they were trying to convey.

It took college for me to finally find myself. Every day presents something to be grateful for. Acceptance is where I am at now because, not only did I lose loved ones. I also lost myself. The grieving process does not have a timeline and parts of me died with every single person that lost their battle. It chipped away at my heart and my soul until I felt like nothing was left.

Standing in line to cross that stage, it was surreal. Is this really happening? At the bottom of the stage after I crossed was a lovely veteran by the name of Vicki who has spent hours talking with me about the challenges of veterans. She reached out to me and gave me her hand to hold onto. There she was, one last time, as if to say, "I got you. You got this." She smiled that beautiful smile of hers and walking with degree in hand, I saw all of the faces of the professors who were a part of my journey. Their smiles and clapping was bitter sweet.

That milestone moment was the pomp and circumstance of reclamation. I entered college expecting for my calling to happen before I would finish. It was the moment of letting go of the depression and accepting that it was time to move on.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. I spent a year getting rejection letter after rejection letter seeking a position. That year was grueling but the final 'yes' was the result of holding on to that moment knowing that the right organization with the right culture would call to ask me if my next chapter would be with them.

I am still here and here I am with the organization that was a top contender of my list because they had the values that fit the most.

It has been a very long and arduous journey through the grieving process. I wasn't grieving just for the losses of others, I was grieving the loss of myself and there are days, still, that I question whether this is all real. It is and I have accepted the loss of who I used to be and discovering a new me and looking forward to who I will become.

I'm not done yet. Neither are you. You're still here aren't you? It isn't without the pain and that pain is normal. You're not alone in this journey. When you decide to take that step, no matter how small, there are those of us who have been down that path that are willing to reach our hand out even if it's just for comfort. You are not alone.