“Everything about us supports the Yankees, we bleed blue.”

These words echo through my childhood. We are Yankees fans, tried and true. Growing up the morale of my family was based on how the Yankees played; if we won, we celebrated, if we lost the whole family grieved. The Yankees were our only excuse for staying up late. Together on our couch, we faithfully watched every game until the last second.

I remember one specific May afternoon when I was six. My brothers and I were casually headed home from school when we were suddenly rushed into our old minivan. As we quickly shuffled to sit down, we learned that we were going on a surprise trip: a chance to watch the Yankees play live. Arriving at the stadium, I was soon overwhelmed with all my favorite things: the sea of devoted fans, the yell of young peanut sellers, the smell of burgers right off the grill.

As my family all sat around stuffing our faces with warm, familiar hot dogs and cheering for the same, faithful team I remember feeling like life was perfect; surrounded by the people I love most watching our team play to victory.

Life continued. We were hit by many bumps along the way: the death of my dad, an abrupt move to Georgia, and soon my brothers departing for college leaving me the only child at home. However, one thing remained permanent in my life, and it was the unfailing spirit and joy of the Yankees. I knew every year, as March rolled around, they would always be there; although trades were made and players were moved, they always came back.

I soon realized that like the Yankees, my family too would always be there to rely on, to bring me joy, and to be a constant in a life of continuous change. Moreover, every year this team would continue to bring the family together, no matter where we were in life.

Whether it is my brothers making one last visit to the old stadium or gathering for spring training, the team brings us together.

Even if we do not have the opportunity to see them in person, we are all watching. Every year when I enjoy each game, I know that wherever my family is they are doing the same. We are continually texting each other, yelling at refs, cheering for plays, and grieving over losses. Together. I believe in the Yankees. I believe in the excitement and unity it brings to my family.

Although my dad has now passed, the Yankees still bring us together. It was the Yankees that kept us going when we wanted to give up and the Yankees that brought happiness to our lives when all seemed distraught. And – it is the Yankees today that continue to round the family and remind us of the importance of love and each other.

Death.

The most earth-rattling, indescribable word.

How is it possible that it only takes a matter of seconds to never see someone again? Never talk to them again. Never see their life-changing smile again.

You try to come up with any and every possible reason why they were taken away from you, but you never find one that can heal the pain.

Everyone experiences all types of pain, from physical ache to heartbreak, but this type of pain is unbearable.

You can never escape it.

Sure, you learn how to suppress it on occasion, but that pain becomes a part of you.

It is a giant hole in your being, because the person you lost helped shape you.

I envy those who can find overwhelming peace by turning to the Lord in this unbearable time.

I wish I had that kind of relationship with God, to not have a doubt in my mind that everything was going to be okay. That the person I lost was the happiest they’ve ever been in the gates of heaven.

But the sad truth is that I do not know. I do doubt.

I don’t always understand.

At only 21 years old, how have I already experienced so much loss?

How was my best friend’s boyfriend so unhappy at the naïve age of 16 that he took his own life?

How could the most uplifting coach, mentor, and teacher be killed so suddenly, leaving behind his two little children without a dad?

How could three boys that were just about to embark on the best four years of their life encounter such a tragic incident, leaving one mentally handicapped and one gathering the community for a funeral?

How could everyone’s favorite Auburn Tiger, with the most God fearing family, no longer walk this earth?

And how could five beautiful college girls, that have made such a remarkable impact, have their futures cut short?

I have to believe everything happens for a reason.

I have to believe that heaven is one hell of a party.

I have to believe that these beautiful people served their purpose on earth, even in such a short time frame.

And I have to believe that eventually… we will all be okay.

Father’s Day always brings mixed emotions for me. While I honor the important role fathers can play in a child’s life and I see my husband thrive as “dad”, I also lament the years of fatherhood lost for so many others.

My own dad died when I was 14 after a long illness. He wasn’t my everyday parent, but he was still very important to me. I have good memories of playing card games – he let me win a lot. I remember feeling bad that I always beat him, so sometimes I intentionally played bad to let him win.

We watched Cleveland Brown’s football, golf, westerns and Shirley Temple movies on Sundays in his top floor apartment in the small Michigan town I grew up in. He had one of those brown floral pattern couches that were so popular in the 80s and brown shag carpet. A small wooden table sat in his kitchenette where we’d eat, talk, or play games.

Sports and games were deeply-rooted in my relationship with my dad. I remember my first real catch playing baseball at Island Park in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan. One of my siblings hit a line drive right at me. I stuck out my glove and somehow the ball stayed in. My dad and siblings ran towards me and celebrated my triumph. That feeling of accomplishment and celebration is one I tried to capture for many years as an athlete.

When my dad was well enough, he’d pull up to my Little League games in his brown 1979 Chevy Impala and park in the grass just outside the ball field. A good hit or play on my part would always warrant a series of honks from him. How I loved to hear that horn.

After the game I’d run over and give him a hug. He’d wrap his arms around me, his button-down cotton shirt open in the summer heat, his chest emblazoned with a large bald eagle tattoo – a relic from his Army days. We’d talk for a few minutes before I headed home with my mom.

He loved to tell stories and jokes. I’d call him up on the phone and never know what silly thing he might say. Once he answered the phone and instead of saying “hello”, I heard “Hooked on Phonics worked for me!” I loved seeing that side of him.

He hated to be late to anything, especially church.

Around the time I turned eight, we started to go to church with him. It had red carpet and a bumpy white ceiling that I spent a lot of time staring at. I hated dressing up and sitting in the uncomfortable pews. When my boredom reached its peak, I’d nudge him and ask for a stick of Juicy Fruit gum or abscond to the bathroom just to get out of the service for a few minutes.

I was baptized at this church. I remember not feeling ready, but my dad was sick and I knew it would make him happy. Eventually he became too sick to come with us, so we’d go to the service and then walk the block over to his apartment and visit for the remainder of the day.

During the last few years of his life, it became harder and harder for him to breath. He’d have long coughing fits and I’d wonder if it would ever stop. Every couple of hours, he took breathing treatments to help clear his lungs.

The last time I saw him was New Year’s Day, 1997. He was staying at my grandpa’s house by that time. He had an adjustable hospital bed set up in his bedroom. I pulled a chair up to it and we watched football together. We talked about school and sports. There was a moment that day when he was coughing pretty badly and I wondered if he was going to die right there in front of me.

At the end of the visit, he told me he loved me one more time and we hugged. I remember feeling optimistic as I left. Despite the almost dying part, we’d had a really nice visit and I was looking forward to seeing him again soon.

Five days later I walked into my house and my mom gave me the news.

I ran to my room and slammed the door several times. Then I fell to the floor and cried. I was disappointed and heartbroken. And now, 18 years later, I still am. That’s the thing about death – it doesn’t ask for permission.

He never got to see me graduate from high school, college, or graduate school. On my wedding day, my mom walked me down the aisle. My kids know that grandpa is in heaven with Jesus. He never got to see me become the person I am.

It’s Father’s Day. I celebrate the great dads out there, but I’ll always be a little heartbroken. I’ll always lament the memories we could have made. I’ll always think about what could have been.

Drew Gladstone was my nephew. My sister, Tammy, is fifteen years younger than me.  My children were much older and so it was nice to have babies around again when Tammy had her children.  I loved them like they were my own.

When I think back, I would never have believed that Drew would have the slightest thoughts of taking his own life.  He was funny.  He could always make us laugh.  He was serious when he needed to be.  He was smart.  He loved sports.  He played football until his knees were in such bad shape that he couldn’t play anymore.  He was never lazy.  He would work harder than anyone his age I had ever seen.

He always helped my mom with her yard because she was elderly and needed the help.  She couldn’t pay him.  He did it because he loved her; she was his G-ma as he called her.  Smitty, my husband, hired Drew every year because he was such a great help with our yard, opening and maintaining our pool throughout the summer.  Smitty depended on Drew because he knew he could.  He was always involved in our lives in one way or another.  He also had a job at Zaxby’s.  He was in school at Athens Tech.  Why do I say all these things?  Because he was a typical young man.  He had goals.  He had plans.

I think the hardest thing for me was that my little sister had lost her son and I didn’t know how to help her.

I knew what I was feeling and it hurt so badly, but this was her baby and I knew she hurt so much worse.  I went to some doctor’s appointments with her and to meetings at Nuci’s Space with her, but that seemed so small.  I prayed for her.  I found out that my sister is a very strong person.

She will tell you she isn’t, but what I saw was strength. She made herself do so many things when I knew it would have been easier for her to stay home.  Shortly after Drew died, a friend also lost her child to suicide.  I debated and debated about going to the funeral home and I just didn’t think I could do it.  I didn’t go, but I found out later that Tammy went to the funeral home and spoke with the family.  I can only imagine how hard that was for her. I was so proud of her for that and I know it meant a lot to that family as well.

Drew will be in our hearts forever. It has been over four years now since he died and we still miss him dearly.  All holidays and other family get-togethers, we think of him.  Every year when we open the pool, we think of him.  So many times just in normal conversation, he comes up.  Why he made the decision he did, we may never know.

We do know the pain and emptiness suicide leaves.  Our hope and prayer is to help others avoid this pain and emptiness in their lives.  “Life is a precious gift.  Once shared, it will never be forgotten.

I often tell people that I was given an incredible gift when my Dad remarried. Up until that point, I was an only child. My stepmom, Pam, had two sons by a previous marriage. I became a sister overnight and I took my role very seriously. In my family, the word “step” was never a part of the equation. We were introduced as a family of five, “…Our sons, Jeremy and Allen and our daughter, Caroline.”

Although you’d never know it, Allen suffered for years with severe depression. On February 8th of this year, Allen took his own life. Allen was an amazing brother! He was caring, compassionate, honest, and never gave anything less than 110% to anything he did.

Allen was the life of the party; always coming up with some joke to make us laugh.

At my high school graduation party, he stole the spotlight when he put on his roller blades and skated around the swimming pool to any random song. Allen was driven! He received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of Georgia. It was his dream to receive his doctorate from there as well. Allen was the camp director for the Fortson 4-H Center in Hampton, Georgia. He was constantly creating projects and presentation to both inspire and educate children who visited his beloved 4-H camp.

However, when the depression began to take a strong hold on him several months before his passing, Allen began to pull away from the people and activities he loved so much. He stopped eating. He began to lose his drive and focus. He started to question every move he made which was unlike my carefree, lighthearted little brother. Allen was always the one who was up before the rooster crowed. Towards the end of his life, there were countless days that he remained in bed. It was like he was stuck in neutral. Depression literally sucked the life out of Allen. Depression stole my brother.

I can’t exactly tell you how Allen’s death has affected me. I miss him so much!

We were always close growing up and often confided life’s little secrets in one another. Toward the end of his life, Allen and I spoke several times a day through calls, emails and texts. In fact, I spoke with him just minutes before he took his life. I constantly replay the last conversations we had in my mind and often debate with myself if I could have said or done anything differently. There was no doubt that he knew I loved him and vice versa. I know in my heart that I did everything I could to help him.

I’ve experienced loss before. I lost my Mom two years ago very tragically to a pulmonary embolism. I am forever changed because of her loss, however, my Mom did not commit suicide. Allen’s death has spurred a sense of helplessness, as if I were drowning. Yes, I see a professional counselor weekly. Yes, I take medication that helps with my depression and anxiety. This is different! Not only am I grieving my brother’s death, I am also battling with the fact that he committed suicide!

Several weeks ago, I stumbled upon the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s (AFSP) website. I’ve learned that we are not alone in this new struggle. There are countless families that suffer through this every day! The AFSP hosts community and campus walks throughout the country to raise awareness, educate and offer support to individuals and families who are struggling with a mental health disorder. They also provide support for those who have lost a loved one to suicide. I’ve chosen to participate in their upcoming walk in Athens, Georgia in Allen’s memory. Athens holds a special place in my heart as it hosts the college that Allen longed to attend since he was in elementary school.

I want to be Allen’s voice!

I want to help, encourage and support those people like me. I want to do what I can to prevent this horrible tragedy from happening to someone else. I want to help in changing the current perception of Mental Health. Those who suffer with anxiety and depression are not crazy! I am not crazy!

There is no doubt in my mind that Allen is with me every day! His death has forever changed me. Even though he was my little brother, I want to be more like him. I want to be more encouraging, more compassionate and be more aware of those around me. I carry a piece of his heart with me every day. I promise to continue his legacy of helping and inspiring those around me. I also promise to raise my daughter in that same light.

For more information about the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP,) please visit www.afsp.org If you’d like to learn more about the upcoming walk in Athens on Sunday, April 24th, please visit afsp.donordrive.com .This link will send you directly to my team’s page, “For Allen.” Here you can learn more about myself and my amazing teammates. Our team is made up of Allen’s friends and family and extended friends who wanted to be a part of this extraordinary cause. And if you feel lead to donate, you can click “Donate” on the page as well. Together we can make a difference.

I can remember the day so clearly.

I had just started 6th grade.  I was worried about going to a new school with kids I hadn’t grown up with my whole life, learning how to use a locker, and trying out for sports.  I didn’t think I’d be worrying about a deadly illness that alters so many lives each year, each day, each second for that matter.

My mom hadn’t been feeling well for a while, but I figured it was nothing serious, until she went to the doctor and sat me down that evening.

She had cancer.

Stage 3 colon cancer to be exact. I am from Augusta, Georgia.  It’s a large town with a small town feel, if that makes sense.  Everyone knows everyone, well at least the parents do.  Life was happy there.  I grew up with an older sister to play with, a mom who loves me, and a dad who always tells me to be the free spirit I am.  Things aren’t always happy, though.

One-day life hits you in the gut so hard you think you might never catch your breath again.  For me, that was the day my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I didn’t believe her at first.  Sitting in her bathroom I sat there sobbing as she broke the news.  Sobbing because I was angry, because I didn’t understand why this happened to her, because it wasn’t fair.  She didn’t cry when she told me.  She was strong and sat there holding me.  That night after I finally got my emotions under control I realized I had to be strong for her.  She couldn’t do this on her own.

Stage 3 colon cancer is no joke.  Things were bad.  My mom was in her late 40s when she was diagnosed.  Most people don’t even get a colonoscopy until they are 50.  If my mom had waited that late, she wouldn’t be with me here today.

Death.

People shy away from it, don’t want to talk about it, dance around the word like actually talking about it will make it happen, but there it was staring me straight in the face. My mom’s cancer was advanced and it wasn’t the best scenario, but then again with cancer is there even a best scenario?  She was going to have to go through chemo and radiation as well as an intensive surgery.  And then even more chemo.

I can remember her barely being able to walk into the house because she was so exhausted from treatment, crawling into the garage because she was so fatigued. My mom didn’t give up.  She was more than this sickness.  She wasn’t going to let it cripple her and wither her away.  She never complained or said she was tired.  She was scared, terrified even, but she didn’t let it show because letting it show let the cancer win and that wasn’t happening.

I remember hearing a lot of things I didn’t understand, medical terms, all much too technical. To be honest, I didn’t really want to know what it all meant because I was scared one day someone would say she only has a year left, or a few months.

Before my mom had surgery, she went through 6 weeks of chemotherapy as well as radiation.  I could see how it drained her, sucked the life out of her, but she kept on going.

Then the day of the surgery came.

I remember being at the hospital.  I’ll never forget that sterile smell.  It burned my nose and made me feel sick to my stomach.  I sat in the waiting room with family and friends waiting…waiting for the doctors to come out and say your mom is fine, everything is ok.

That isn’t what happened.

It had been 8 grueling hours.  Each minute that went by I got more afraid. I couldn’t imagine my life without my mom.

I was supposed to be worried about boys and middle school drama but here I was worried about if I would ever hear her voice again.  I couldn’t imagine not having her look in my room every night and tell me she loved me and would see me in the morning, or tell me funny stories and laugh with me.  My mom’s laugh is so distinct.  It’s so loud and high pitched I could always pick it out of a crowd.

As I’ve gotten older I notice more and more that I laugh like her, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. The eighth hour came and doctors walked out and said if my mom stayed under any longer she probably wouldn’t survive.  We didn’t know what else to do but pray.  I remember standing there with hot tears streaming down my face beside my family and friends as we stood in a circle and began to hold hands and we prayed.

Prayed for her to live.

Prayed for her to be healthy and the cancer to go away.

Prayed for her not to leave us so soon.

I was so angry because I didn’t understand why God did this to her.  I realized, though, that it made my mom stronger, which is hard to believe that was even possible.  It made her stronger for the other events that were to happen to her later. They say rain makes trees grow deeper roots.  My mom grew deeper roots in all this rain and darkness.  She was still a guiding light.

She survived the surgery.  I remember seeing her after it. She had so many tubes feeding into her pale, frail body. I felt sick. I hated seeing her like that but at the same time I was just happy to see her breathing. See her chest moving up and down.  I can say that without her I wouldn’t be the person I am today and I probably wouldn’t be at the University of Georgia like I am now.

After my mom recovered from surgery, she had more chemotherapy.  The day finally came when she finished her last treatment and she went into remission. She is now cancer free 8 years, has run multiple 5ks and a half marathon, as well as receive two promotions at work. She was strong then and still is strong now.  The whole time I thought I was going to have to be strong for her because she needed me but it turned out she was strong for me and my family.

She never let the cancer stop her.  She didn’t let it weigh her down because if she had it would have consumed her. I remember her telling me the statistic when was diagnosed was that 1 in 4 people get cancer.  She looked at me and said “I got cancer but I hope I was the 1 out of the 4 members of our family to get it.” She would have rather her suffer than to see us suffer. I can not think of a greater amount of love and sacrifice than when she told me that.

After watching my mom’s battle and seeing her survive I have been a member for Relay For Life for many years.

I not only Relay for my mom, but my Granny and great-aunt Dot who survived breast cancer, my cousin Nick who is currently battling Leukemia, and my Pop who passed away from lung cancer my sophomore year of high school. It’s not just about the loved ones I know affected by cancer, though. It’s about everyone who was affected, is affected, will be affected.  It’s about having hope in a better tomorrow.

My mom had hope, and so do I. I have hope that there will be a day where there is a cure.  Until then I fight.  I fight for loved ones lost, for those currently battling, and for those who will battle. My mom never gave up, and neither will I. She taught me strength and courage, and she continues to do so everyday. She is a force that cannot be stopped and everything I aspire to be.

So I encourage you to sign up for Relay For Life, donate to someone’s page, or participate in a local Relay For Life event near you. Together we will finish the fight.

If you would like to donate to help me meet my fundraising goal here’s the link.

(Written by Zac Cooper)

“Everything you want is on the other side of fear” –George Addair

George Addair explains that in order to get what you want in life you have to face fear directly in the eye. Exit your comfort zone and face the things that scare you the most. What you want in life is out of your comfort zone, by constantly allowing yourself to become uncomfortable is how you grow as a person. Do something that requires courage and calculated risk and you will be likely to find success in your endeavors.

My obstacles were not as serious as living in an underprivileged community or in poverty – my story relates to overcoming shortcomings in competition and overcoming the mental aspect that I struggled with.

So, what does it take to be successful in a pursuit?

Well, before answering that, one must define what the term ‘success’ means to them and what one’s purpose is when aiming for success. The dictionary defines the word success in two prominent ways:

1) The attainment of popularity or profit.

2) The accomplishment of an aim or purpose

 For the most part society synonymously attaches the term success to winning, prosperity or monetary gain as the first definition proclaims, but I believe the point is being missed with that definition. I look at success and identify with the second definition: The accomplishment of an aim or purpose, regardless of money or fame.

 My coach Adam Singer elaborates on the second definition and describes success as the progressive realization of a worthy ideal or goal. The key word here being progressive, I believe that people want success immediately and forget that it comes with a journey of ups and downs.

Successful people have the mindset of accepting failure as a necessary learning process, which allows them to take action and correct themselves in the future and in what they truly believe in and are pursuing. It is only truly a failure if you stop trying.

I am Zac Cooper – failed baseball player, failed wrestler and current Georgia Amateur MMA champion. One of those descriptions does not belong and it’s because of the first two failures.

I only say I was a ‘failure’ because I did not accomplish any goals I set forth and never managed to win anything in my years. Many would consider my career as a baseball player or wrestler as successful but the truth is I never actually won anything.

However, I sure did give a valiant effort in all my pursuits. I AM hard on myself but the statements above are facts.

I constantly came up short and damn near quit in my efforts, but I kept trying with each new venture and when I eventually found my true passion I obtained one of my major goals I set in being a champion.

FAILURE definition – to be unsuccessful in achieving one’s goal.

MY JOURNEY

BASEBALL & WRESTLING

My journey began as most kids did; I bounced around every sport from basketball, soccer and baseball in my free time. In my early teenage years I took interest in baseball over everything and began to focus on that in 7^th grade. I would play countless games throughout the year from spring ball, to summer and then to fall ball. It was a year round endeavor and eventually got old by the time I hit high school and my passion had run out, but I continued because it was all I knew.

I needed a change of pace.

I had been thinking of taking up wrestling my freshman year before baseball but did not due to the fear of the grueling practices and wanting to play fall ball. I had always admired the mental fortitude of wrestlers and the fact that it was an individual sport with no one to blame for failure but yourself. There was something about relying on my efforts and no one elses I found amusing. When the next year rolled around I decided out of nowhere to just join without thinking and that the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.

I fell in love with wrestling and saw success at a JV level early on. In my very first tournament in which comprised of over 20 teams I found myself winning the first two matches on the first day and set up in the semi finals. The next day I would go on to lose 3 straight, place 6^th and not even show up to the podium because of my embarrassment. I knew I had many opportunities in the future to get on the top of that podium, but little did I know I would never step foot there again.

PASSION FOR WRESTLING/BJJ

When my first year of wrestling ended it was back to baseball, but something didn’t feel right. During tryouts I was preparing to field ground balls at second base and I found myself lost. I found my mind wandering and was more focused on my wrestling posture at second base than fielding ground balls.

By junior year I decided to hang up my cleats before the season even began. I was stepping out of my comfort zone. It was especially hard when my baseball coach pulled me in the wrestling room (not knowing what was happening) to talk. I remember to this day what he said after I broke the news I was done playing baseball. Perplexed he went on “Well, do you have fun in here?!,” Saying sarcastically. I looked at him directly in the eye and said, “Yes, I love this room.”

No matter how tough and daunting every practice was I loved every moment of wrestling, there was something to be said about physically and mentally pushing yourself to the limit only to have to go beyond that in order to succeed. I had found my new passion.

Without wrestling I would have never learned the important life lessons in humility, agony, failure, success as well as all of the ups and downs the sport brings to a human.

 I believe it is the most crucial factor in making me who I am today.

WRESTLING CAREER

My second year I was one of the leaders on the JV team yet failed to make the podium once again individually, yet as a team we had massive success.

This still left me unfulfilled, as wrestling is mainly an individual sport. My senior year I expected to start and dominate until my good friend came out of nowhere to beat my handily in the pre-season wrestle offs. I was upset and utterly confused.

Eventually he would injure himself, which allowed me to start the majority of the year. I worked hard all year and saw some success against mediocre wrestlers but got beat by the top notch guys every time. I felt as if I was so close to the capabilities of these top level guys. Physically I was as strong and athletic, but mentally I lacked what the champions had. I was improving and when my friend came back he wrestled me off for the spot once again.

We had one last team tournament as a team I would wrestle in before Josh came back from injury and we had to wrestle off for the starting spot. It was the team regional tournament and the top 3 would move on to the team state tournament.

We found ourselves in the semi-finals and the winner would go on to the state tournament regardless of the finals result and we had our hands full with the team in front of us. It was decided that my weight class would be the very last to compete, which had me just a little bit nervous. Anyway, when the time came we were down by 5 points and we needed a PIN, or we lose and go home. I began by dominating my opponent but struggled to pin him.

I gave everything I had in the moment but came up short in pinning my opponent, only to win 13-11 – which was a win, but not what we needed.

I was devastated. I knew that if my friend Josh (who’s spot I was taking due to injury) would have pinned the man. Now, because of my shortcomings our team was headed home. As they raised my hand in victory, I cried. I did not do what needed to be done and although it was not 100% my fault, I felt like I failed my team.

It was the week before the last tournament and I knew I had to show-out and win or else I would be done. The wrestle-off was intense and I found myself down by 3 when time ran out as I was about to hit a reversal/possible back points which would have put me ahead for the win. Just like that I was done, my career was over. (and worst of all, I found myself injured with a neck problem that wouldn’t allow me to be physically active for months and bad place mentally.)

I had graduated high school and was set to attend Georgia Southern but needed something to fill the void after wrestling. I knew I wasn’t done competing yet – I had only just started 3 years ago in something I became obsessed with. At the end of summer after I healed up from my neck injury I sustained while helping my friend who beat me prepare for the final tournament I started kickboxing two weeks before I left for school.

GEORGIA SOUTHERN

When I started at Georgia Southern University I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do.

I was indecisive with every endeavor from choosing my major to joining a fraternity or continuing wrestling/MMA, I was lost. I went the safe route with my major, decided not to join a fraternity the first semester and I joined the MMA club immediately.

The guys in charge of the club were well-established amateur fighters and coaches. The first day I showed up with no gear. After a tough practice they matched everyone up by size, gave them gloves, shin guards and pretty much said ‘fight.’ I was scared to death. Not only was this the first fight I would ever be in, I was fighting a taller and much bigger individual. But the second they said ‘spar’ I was lost in my own world.

I loved every second of the pure one on one aspect of unarmed combat, who can impose their game plan and come out the victor. There was no one else in there to lay blame on if something went wrong. It was new and it was real. This was the coaches’ test to see if you truly wanted to do this, and boy did I!

Throughout the semester I proved my worth to them and kept improving my standup to go along with my high school wrestling. Mixed Martial Arts became my obsession.

When second semester rolled around I decided join a fraternity, stay sober and was practically non-existent in the club. I was set to have my first fight but that fell through quickly with all of my obligations.

The next summer I trained feverishly and sharpened my tools with them and I knew what I wanted to do now. Although I had just joined a fraternity I was set on giving MMA a crack. Countless hours in the gym and I finally was set up for my first fight, only for my opponent to not show up at weigh ins.

Fortunately the next week I took a late replacement fight in the weight class above my normal one. I went through a tough first minute but came out of my shell and hit my opponent with a flurry of strikes until I rocked him and the ref jumped in. There was no better feeling in the world – nothing compared to the euphoria of winning a fight.

After my fight I partied a lot. After my fight I lost sight of all of the hard work I had put forth. I began partying a lot after I found out I was going to UGA the next semester. I was leaving everything behind and although it was a tough decision, I was excited. Once I settled down in Athens my spark for the sport began to burn just as it had before and fortunately for me Athens was home to the HardCore Gym, which has produced two world champions. I found out I was going to UGA the next semester and was leaving everything I started behind. It was honestly a tough decision but would prove to be a great one. One fight down and I knew I wanted to keep having more. Athens is home to The HardCore Gym, which has produced two world champions.

Once I was on the fight team I fought constantly and improved my record to 3-0. I had found early success but that all came to a screeching halt.

With one more win I would receive a title shot but I ended up losing in the first round and found myself in a rut. I was devastated, I didn’t take the fight seriously and I shouldn’t have looked past him. I learned my first lesson to never look past your opponent and focus on what is front of you. Just like wrestling I came so close but ended up with nothing once again.

I was pissed so I booked another fight in October against the former champion who just lost his belt.

He came in overweight but I did not care. I got a call in the morning of the fight from my coach – the fight was off, my opponent had eye issues. It was not until 6 hours later they said we have a guy; he was cutting to 155 (I’m 145) and is making his debut…but he’s a golden gloves boxing champ at 165 lbs.

I took the fight, I didn’t care, all the work was done and I just wanted to fight. Lesson number two; don’t do that. I ended up losing a decision and took home a huge gash under my eye and huge black eye that didn’t make my mom happy.

I decided to return April and won decisively. I was now set to fight the champion in May and realize my goal but he suffered a concussion and the fight fell through and was set to be re-scheduled for the summer, but I had obligations to study abroad in Australia and missed my shot once again. He then went pro and vacated the belt.

I was then set to face my friend in August for the vacated belt but he ended up getting injured. My patience was running short. Finally on September 13 I had my chance to fight for the vacant title only to find out two weeks before my opponent pulled out for personal reasons. With no challengers stepping up I took a fight at a weight class lower versus a very tough opponent and failed to perform.

A few fights later I found myself in a position to fight for a title in a promotion in South Carolina. Light was coming through the dark tunnel I had put myself in and I was ready to seize the golden opportunity in front of me. The fight was a grueling war between the larger opponent and I which I lost due to lack of activity, something that had haunted me in previous fights. I was absolutely gutted and thought I was done.

But I knew I needed to keep grinding and not give up knowing my potential. Eventually in March a huge promotion rolled around town and co promoted a show with NFC and I was selected to fight an undefeated fighter for the vacant belt I had earned the right to fight for. It was my opportunity on a huge stage, the time was now or never. I busted my ass for 3 months to get ready for this opportunity.

THE FIGHT – FINALLY

The first round I got beat up from every angle. I took his best shots and submission attempts but made it through. The second round I came out and relaxed, I breathed deep and took the fight where I was best, the ground. It was not long before I won via Technical Knockout. The feeling of the ref stepping in gives me the chills every time I think about it. I had never won anything in my life and I finally accomplished something. I was now a champion.

“You don’t deserve anything in life, you deserve what you earn” –T. Brands

When that belt wrapped around my waist the excitement kicked in. I didn’t deserve that win, I earned it. I worked hard, stayed patient and eventually my time came I capitalized on the opportunity. I am now champion with a target on my back.

It was the small changes that made the difference. My coaches Adam and Rory stress the three things we control every morning with the acronym A.P.E. (Attitude, Perspective, Effort)

This coupled with showing up and working hard day in and day out culminates into success. I had struggles and hardships in my career along the way but I reached my goal for once in my athletic career. I defended my belt on June 27 and won via submission in the third round after getting beat the first two rounds.

My future opponents stand no chance when the time comes around after the adversity I have faced.

I just recently dropped weight classes and defeated the 135 pound champion in a dominant unanimous decision victory. It was my final amateur bout and now with my goals being complete I am now set to accomplish a lifelong dream in becoming a professional athlete on February 20, 2016. For my whole life I was sure I would be a professional baseball player, but through my journey I was lead into the world of Mixed Martial Arts.

In every success story there is a struggle that no one sees – it is not an easy path. I learned a lot on the way to the title and failed a lot as well. All of my experiences and each time I failed to meet my expectations/goals I was upset, but I did not quit. I took lessons from each ‘failure’ and learned to apply my knowledge in order to progressively better myself in the future and create a different result. Eventually my time came and I seized the opportunity.

I am far from achieving overall success but I am progressively realizing my goals as they come to fruition with hard work and focus. I celebrate the small victories for now and know they will play a part in my overall goal and have many future successes in the future.

IN CONCLUSION

On what it takes to be successful former World Champion, Chael Sonnen sums it up perfectly. He said, “Between success and failure some say that failure is not an option. I think that is ridiculous. Failure is the most readily available option, but it’s a choice. You can choose to fail or you can choose to succeed.”

It’s a rarity that a successful person has had an easy path to their destination. No matter how hard your journey might be it is all in the mindset and how you approach what is in front of you that will determine your destination. Success comes from fulfillment, if you are not satisfied or happy with what you do or who you are then is it really success?

The Complexity of success can be daunting but at the end of the day success is all a state of mind.

(Written by Nicole Hammett)

My grandmother was there the day I was born.

She kept me multiple days of the week before I began school and many afternoons once I had started. She taught me stories, rhymes, songs, and lessons.

I have nothing but precious memories from my childhood visits at my grandmother’s house, and because she lived alone, I know she cherished my company as well. Part of who I am today is because of her.

However, as much as I hate to admit it, things changed as I grew older. As I entered my teens, I began to dread the boredom that I associated with my grandmother’s basic cable, internet-free house.

Although she lived next door to me, I began visiting less and less, and once I had my drivers license, I had stopped going almost altogether. I only made the trip next door on holidays or when my mother made me. I had no idea at the time what a mistake I was making.

It was my senior year of high school when my mother noticed my grandmother’s memory beginning to fade.

It began with her short-term memory, and you had to retell her things multiple times. However, she could still tell you in perfect detail stories of her childhood. She soon began to forget names, and her doctors explained that she was suffering from dementia.

We knew it would get worse, we just had no idea how fast. Within a couple months, she began telling elaborate stories of conversations she had had that day with deceased relatives, talking to voices in her head, hiding from people she believed to be in her house trying to hurt her, and her “trips to heaven” she had made that day in order to talk to her sister.

She once called 9-1-1 on my father at two in the morning for beating me and mom, when my dad was out of state at the time (and he’s never harmed a hair on our heads). The most hurtful moment to my family, however, was the night she did not know who her own daughter, my mother, was. The child she raised and who now had taken care of her every day for years was only a stranger standing in her bedroom.

I began to visit her more often, but I felt extremely guilty for how I dreaded seeing her and the state she was in. Seeing my grandmother, who used to be so strong and independent, now unable to walk and not in her right mind broke my heart.

So, I did another horrible thing that I would regret: I avoided the visits so I would not have to experience the sadness and hurt.

My family, as well as myself, soon realized that we were dealing with my grandmother’s dementia and our pain in a completely wrong way. I now understood that I needed to face my grandmother and cherish the time I had left with her instead of living with the fear of what I might witness.

So, I began to accompany my mother on visits more often. The way we interacted with her changed, as well.

Before, we fought her and the stories she came up with in her head. We told her she was wrong, and that the people she saw and voices she heard were only in her mind. We tried to force the fact that the stories she invented were not true.

However, this did not bring peace, only anger.

It hurt her to think that we did not believe what she said and that we thought she was crazy, and she was beginning to resent us for it. And the times she started to accept that we might be right and what she believes is false, it only filled her with fear.

She did not deserve an emotional roller coaster such as this in her last few years.

So, my family decided to deal with the situation in a lighter way. Instead of disagreeing and fighting with my grandmother, we acted as if her stories were true, laughed about them with her, and asked her for more details.

If she said that she had been running around town with her father all day, we ignored the facts that she couldn’t leave her bed and that he had passed away decades ago, and instead asked them where all they’d been and if they had a good time.

Although it was bittersweet, seeing my grandmother not so frustrated made everything easier to deal with both for us and her.

That next fall, I left for college and only saw my grandmother every few months when I visited home. One night, while sitting in my dorm, I received the call from my mother that I had been dreading but expecting for the past few months.

She told me that my grandmother had taken a turn for the worse, and that this was more than likely going to be her last night.

It was in that moment that my past regrets overwhelmed me. Every day that I dreaded going to see her. Every moment that I ignored her and sat playing on my phone. Every visit that I avoided for fear of what I might see.

I only had a few moments with the woman who raised my mother and helped to raise me, and I had taken them for granted. I had not been around enough when she needed love and family the most.

And now at the end of her life, I had no way to get home from college in time.

I still thank God that this was a false alarm. She lived not only until the next morning, but even though the doctors only gave her a few weeks, she is still alive today. I believe the Lord wanted to teach me a lesson in love, family, strength, and courage.

He wanted to teach me to cherish the moments I’m blessed to live, and the moments I’m given with my friends and family. And most importantly, He wanted to give me more time with my grandmother, which shows what a gracious, giving, and amazing God He is.

Soon after this incident, my family decided to place my grandmother in a nursing home. Although it was incredibly difficult to hear how much she wanted to go home, this turned out to be a wonderful decision.

Her mind still goes in and out, but the care and steady routine has greatly increased her health. While she once was too weak to lift even her hand, today she is more alert and has more energy to interact and talk with us.

I enjoy every moment I am given to listen to her tell me stories of everywhere she has been “running around to” all day.

Sadly, the doctors decided a few months ago to take my grandmother off her medicine for dementia. Her days are now categorized as “good days” and “bad days.”

Some days she will remember us all, while on others it is a struggle. Some she can be angry and yelling, and other times she is sweet and says she loves us.

Some days she claims she’s been running up and down the halls, and others she’ll admit she’s been laying in her bed all day.

The holidays were definitely different with her in the nursing home for the first time. There was a felt absence at our annual family get-togethers.

Still, I could not be more thankful to still have been able to visit her on Christmas Day. She was in high spirits, talkative, and it was altogether a “good day.” My mother said that her mom having a good day was all she needed for this to be a great Christmas, and I couldn’t agree more. Even if we did have to remind Granny a few times what day it was.

Having a loved one suffer from dementia has been one of the most difficult things my family has had to deal with.

Every moment is cherished, both the good and the bad, with the good moments being priceless gifts from God.

Although it has made me regret my past and the time I could have spent with her and chose not to, as well as all the days I am away at college, I have come to peace with the fact that I cannot change it. Dwelling on mistakes and making myself miserable will do nothing for me, my family, or my grandmother, and I know that all I need to focus on is my time with her now and in the future.

I won’t make the same mistakes again, and I won’t take advantage of the gift of more time with her that God has given us.

I don’t mind if she doesn’t remember me now. I don’t mind listening to her stories and going along with them. Sitting in the nursing home with her and being in her presence, 100 percent, not engulfed in technology, is all it takes to make the most out of our time.

The simple act of being there for our family shows a powerful amount of love in itself, and I now realize the importance of something as simple as time.