The Starfish

One day, a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy walking along, picking up some starfish. He would pick one up and then throw it back in the ocean, continue to walk, choose another one, and throw it back. "What are you doing?" The man asked. "You know that you will never make a difference with all these starfish." The boy picked up a starfish and tossed it back into the ocean. "It made a difference to that one" he replied.

It is very easy to get into a mindset in life similar to that of the man's - not worrying about what seems to be 'the little things', and getting caught up in the larger picture of life. Those of us that graduated with Brenna, now four years later, are either finishing up college or have graduated and are beginning new chapters in life. It is easy to think big picture - career, college, graduate school, and for some, marriage and a family.

But at one time, the little things were very important to us. Still in my room sits the whiffle ball that we received at her funeral - something I know will stay with me for a long time. I still have the happy birthday tiara, slightly faded, that was hers, and the 'celebrate everything' sign that I received the night we went to look through her things. That night happened to be my 18th birthday, and my friend Katelyn came to ride with me, and she brought me a balloon and a cupcake to eat as we drove over to do the hardest thing that I have ever done. It was the little things.

The little things have slowly started to fade and lose meaning. The newscaster's voice used to ring in my ears "Brenna Morgart has been reported missing since 11 a.m. on Friday, May 25..." for months after she died. For a long time, I could not see the patriot guard without tearing up and remembering the way that the man opened the door for me that day at her funeral, unable to make eye contact as I thanked him because he, too, was near losing it. I have felt less and less like I have to keep every 'little thing' - trinket, picture, or gift she ever gave me, because the impact she left has not deteriorated over time, but has multiplied.

For anyone who is not familiar with the ways of starfish reproduction (which I assume is 99% of you reading this) I will inform you that starfish, unlike most creatures, do not need two beings to reproduce, but they actually lose a limb that basically grows a new starfish. A couple years ago, my family was at the beach, and I tried to pick up a starfish and I broke it's leg off. This story is funny now, but I cried for like ten minutes. My sister, caring and precious as she is, just informed me that I was helping the starfish reproduce. As starfish are one of our most joyous finds on our beach trips, I was okay with this - it was one more starfish to add joy to someone else's day.

As time has passed, the lessons and memories of Brenna have seemed to do this very thing. The details of them means less, but they have never vanished, only weaved their way into new interests, memories, and paths of life. Those things that were once so painful to look at (like the whiffle ball) have now become subtle, concrete pieces of my heart that make me smile when I see them. (like the way that I remember Pastor Cogswell hitting them into the audience with a plastic bat at the 1400 people present at her funeral, and missing a few - talk about pressure) Brenna was a joy, that I was blessed to get to spend five years with, but I know that someday, in the grand scheme of things, that might be a distant memory. Pleasant and heartwarming, but distant. She was unbelievably good at taking pieces of herself and giving them to others to make their days, weeks, or even lives better. (not in the literal sense like the starfish do, but you know what I mean)

She was the person who could easily pick someone up on a bad day, just like the boy did. She was the person who would give a piece herself to others to make them happier, or to lend a hand. Although I am sad to admit that my memories with her have faded, and I know that is only going to progress, the lessons have not.

There is a word for the type of person that Brenna was, and it is grace. Grace was recently defined to me by someone wise as simply 'being nicer to people than they deserve.' Grace sounds like a religious, complex word, but it really is not when you think about it that way. Everyone, religious or not, has days when they need someone to be a little nicer than they deserve. If you look, those people are easy to find. It might be a coworker, the Walmart cashier, or someone in your family. It is an easy way to multiply a love that you once received.

On May 23, 2012, Brenna posted her last Facebook status. I will attach it below, but it read "There are two ways to live life: one as though nothing is a miracle, and one is though everything is a miracle." -Albert Einstein. At face value, you might think "What a nice quote" or "Oh, I should start living the other way around." We live a world where everything has a consequence, a logic, a reason. Although that's not a bad thing, it'd be nice to live in a world where you lived thinking you were just really darned lucky to have everything you do.

It is my goal to someday be half of the person that Brenna was. To toss back half of the starfish she did, and to go half of the lengths that she did to give part of herself to better others. I am thankful that over time, the little, both painful and happy memories have faded. The chunks missing in my memory due to the way that the brain handles trauma have been smoothed over. But the footprints she left in my heart about investing in others have only gotten larger and more bold. To the people who have helped me survive, understand, and grow in the past four years, thank you. To the people by my side as we learned what pain really was, thank you. But to the girl who taught me what grace is, I thank you the most.