This article originally appeared in the Summer 2026 issue of The Independent magazine. OGR members can read full versions of previous magazine editions in the OGR Digital Magazine Archive. 

Remarks from the recipient of the OGR Foundation’s Awards of Excellence Scholarship, delivered at PROGRESS 2026 in Louisville, Kentucky.

It is truly an honor to stand in a room filled with individuals who have shaped, sustained, and elevated the funeral profession long before I ever found my way into it. To be here among you is not a moment I take lightly. It’s something I carry with deep gratitude and always will because the truth is, none of us arrive here alone.

This profession, this calling, is built on those who came before us. The ones who stayed late, who answered calls in the middle of the night, who stood beside families in their most fragile moments and never asked for recognition. You built something steady. Something trusted. Something sacred. And because of that, people like me are given the chance to step into it.

Receiving this scholarship did more than support my education; it affirmed that there is still a place for the next generation in this work. There are people who believe this profession is worth investing in, worth protecting, and worth continuing. Because behind every student like me is not just ambition, but pressure. Long hours. Emotional weight. The quiet question of whether we are strong enough, steady enough, worthy enough to carry what this profession demands. And in those moments, support like this becomes more than financial, it becomes foundational. It tells us: You belong here and belonging matters in a profession like ours.

We talk often about the care we give to families, and rightly so. That is the heart of what we do. But there is also a quiet, often unseen layer of care within this field, the way we show up for each other. The way we teach, mentor, guide, and sometimes simply stand beside one another in silence, understanding exactly what the other has carried that day.

This profession asks a lot of us. It asks for our time, our energy, and our emotional resilience. It asks us to walk into grief and not turn away. To create calm in chaos. To offer dignity when it matters most. But what makes it sustainable, what makes it beautiful, is the people; the ones in this room. The ones who remind us, through example, that this is not just a business; it is a responsibility. A privilege. A legacy.

As someone still early in this journey, I can tell you what inspires me most is not just the work itself, but the dedication I see in those who have spent decades doing it well. The consistency. The integrity. The quiet pride in doing something that truly matters and I sincerely hope that I, and others like me, can carry that forward. Not by replacing what you’ve built, but by honoring it. Strengthening it. Continuing it with the same level of care, compassion, and commitment. Because this profession deserves that. The families we serve deserve that, and the people who come after me, just as I was supported, deserve that too.

So tonight, I want to say thank you. Thank you for believing in the future of this profession. Thank you for investing not just in education, but in people, and thank you for allowing me to stand here, not just as a recipient of a scholarship, but as someone who is deeply proud to carry this work forward. Because one day, I will be the one standing where you stand now. When that time comes, I hope I can look at the next generation the way you’ve looked at me: with belief, with generosity, and with the quiet understanding that what we do is bigger than any one of us. That it is something we are entrusted with... only for a little while.

There’s a principle most of us were taught long before we ever entered this field— simple, almost too simple: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Yet, there is no place where that truth lives more fully than here. In our care are not just the families who walk through our doors, but the legacy of this profession itself. A legacy built not on recognition, but on presence. Not on words, but on what we do in the moments when words fail. And long after we are gone, after our names are no longer spoken in the rooms we once stood in, the way we showed up for others will remain. In the gentleness of a hand placed on a shoulder. In the dignity given to someone’s final goodbye. In the quiet, steady assurance that even in loss, someone was there. That is what you’ve built. That is what I am so honored to carry forward. Thank you, and God bless.