Individuals often inquire about my method for rising from bed each morning. The reality is, it began well before a DNA test. It started with a calamity that altered everything.

An year ago, my little brother was killed while strolling on the beach with his closest friend. Three men assaulted him, and a single cruel punch took his life immediately. It broke me apart. You anticipate losing grandparents, perhaps even parents—but never a brother or sister. Informing others that my brother was killed felt like my soul was being painfully torn from me repeatedly.

The years that tailed involved more than sorrow; they included courtrooms, confronting the men who took his life, and seeking justice. I registered in college, studied criminal justice subjects, and obtained a degree to grasp the legal system; I stood up with my brother but justice never came.

Before his death, my brother had found love and was bidding to conceive a child. The death of that dream with him devastated me, particularly realizing I may never get to be an aunt. That desire prompted me to take a DNA test not to locate my father but to discover any nieces or nephews who might exist.

To my surprise, I discovered more than I anticipated. I found my birth father and a sister. She had four kids and was battling addiction. In spite of her difficulties, we connected immediately upon meeting. I took her in with the intention of assisting her in rebuilding her life, but one day, she disappeared.

They came a bid change, and we survived the route 91 shooting in Las Vegas. Buried on the ground within bullets and corpses, I continually murmured, “I do not belong here.” “I have children.” That trauma lingered within me. Only a few days later, our community was struck by wildfires.

In January, my grandma passed away. Shortly afterward, my sister and her spouse perished in an automobile accident. Her kids were gone. I searched them everywhere, and finally, I found them. They felt fear, pain, and were in dangerous environs. My spouse and I assumed legal guardianship. On what would have been my sister’s birthday, we welcomed four incredible children into our family.

We had never encountered them previously, but as soon as they entered that school office, I realized they belonged to me. They have been part of our community for a year now booming, recovering, and developing.

In spite of all the loss, i have received something I never anticipated: love, purpose, and a family. The dust has not completely settled, yet when I gaze at my children, I am recapped that even amid the darkest storms, light can shine through.