I think that of all the days in the world after someone dies - the anniversary of that day, the holidays without them, the everyday things that make you think of them - birthdays are definitely the toughest. Today would have been Brenna's 21st birthday - the last of the milestone birthdays we would have all celebrated together.
This day usually falls each year right around the first thunderstorm, when the trees are changing, and as the weather is finally starting to warm up. (emphasis on finally) The first year, I remember thinking a lot of "Will this ever go away? Will it stop being the first thing on my mind in the morning? Will I stop being reminded of it every time I see the Lion King or Tangled, or hear any words associated with loss, or drive anywhere in Topeka, or see a K-State rowing shirt on campus? - everything seemed to remind me of her.
There was a time in life when I wondered if we would attempt to do something in her honor for her birthday, but it hasn't happened. We've now all moved on to college and her day falls in the middle of the most challenging part of the semester. I made it to the cemetery once over Memorial Weekend the year after she died with a few friends, but otherwise, I know there's several people who have never been out to see her, and I usually just drop by on my way back to school. One of the hardest lessons I had to learn through this process was that everyone grieves differently - and for us, 'different' meant 'not together.'
The trickiest concept to grasp, I think, is that loss is the tough part - not death. It is days when you would be celebrating (like their 21st birthday) that hit you like a ton of bricks. It is getting used to the fact that they are not there - and sometimes, that takes a lot longer than you 'think' it should - and the world is still spinning. It is seeing the articles that catch you off guard on Facebook, like the ones I saw today, written by people so very far away who never heard her positive and yet demanding requests to take a picture, or heard her contagious laugh, write about their thoughts on the death penalty.
Over time, it gets easier though - her birthday tends to resurface all the old pictures that I forgot about - some memories that have even left my mind. That night at the lake, the time we went on a scavenger hunt and managed to fit six people in a porta potty, and even pictures at events that had no reason for photos - but knowing her, the camera was always there. I've never been so thankful for a friend who required so many pictures at so many annoying times. My favorite picture of Brenna and I was taken seconds before I walked on the basketball court for a half time routine during a Hayden game. I was thinking, 'uh, Bren, I kinda gotta be somewhere?' and she kept saying 'no, it'll just be a quick second!' And I'm so glad she was so insistent.
My favorite memories of Brenna may be that time that someone unintentionally called her fat in eighth grade English (it seriously was unintentional) and she promptly slapped him in the face with a binder. Brenna got a high five from our teacher and the boy got sent out in the hall for insulting a girl. Later in eighth grade, she was over for New Year's, and my mom offered her some Sparkling Cider, to which Brenna told my mom that she didn't drink, not realizing it wasn't real. (The girl knew how to stick to her values and I always admired her for that) I think our whole class of 150 knew when she got a discipline sheet and did it in the bathroom so her parents wouldn't find out (we all knew those weren't fair or a good form of punishment anyway, right?) She also tagged my car junior year (when some other friends found out she had never been tagging) ... in the rain... to wish me luck on the ACT. She was a true friend - through thick and thin. :)
This weekend I went home for Easter and on Sunday night went up to the high school to run the track - a place I hadn't been in several months. There was a long time after Brenna died when I didn't like going to the high school. The familiarity of it used to make me sad - knowing that for future reunions or really anytime we get together, there would always be a hole, and not just because she already had earthly plans. I would think of our desks pushed together in seminar to 'do math homework' - or mostly just laugh and giggle and get ourselves in trouble. I thought of her familiar face always sitting front row of the band section at the basketball games and it made her easy to pick out while I danced at half time - the comfort of knowing that even if I messed up, she would still think I was great just because I could spin in circles without falling over.
If I could ask her anything today - just have a five minute conversation with her - it would be How? How did you do it? The positive attitude, the consistent shining of the light of Christ, the constant happiness, that huge smile. How can I be like you? When we went in the Monday after she died to work on the yearbook and begin putting together a memorial page/article for her, that how question sat in my heart like a huge weight. How were we supposed to contain her in one page? Most of the school knew her, so how were we supposed to portray the person she was to each of them? And for those who didn't - what could we possibly say in one page? Pastor Cogswell made the gentle suggestion at her funeral that the letters on our cars should not be What Would Brenna Do, but instead, What Would Brenna Want?
Perhaps I should work so hard to live a life like that - where I could not be fit on a page, not because I am important, or well known, but because the investment in others stretches far beyond what I can see.
Happy 21st, Brenna - you are loved more than you could have ever known.
