I Don’t Replace This Day, I Carry It

 

Ten Years of Loving Her

Ten years of grief.
Ten years of missing Brittany.
Ten years of learning how to live a life I never would have chosen.

There’s a “before,” and there’s an “after,” and you don’t get to choose it.

Ten years ago, my life split into those two parts.

That morning felt like every other morning. I left for work early, like I always did. Before I walked out, I poked my head into the girl's rooms where they were still half asleep.

“Good morning sunshine… I love you.”

I got the usual response. A moan, a roll over and back to sleep.

It was Normal.
It was Ordinary.
The kind of moment you never think twice about, until it’s too late.

That was the “before" after that… everything changed.

Brittany got up, took her sister to school, told her she loved her and instead of coming into my office before class like she always did she went home.

And she took her life.

In an instant, life became something I never would have chosen.

Ten years of grief.
Ten years of missing her.
Ten years of learning how to live in the “after.”

In ten years, I have felt it all grief, hurt, anger, confusion, guilt. The kind of heartbreak that doesn’t have words big enough to hold it. In these same ten years, I have also found something else.

Joy.
Hope.
Self-compassion.

And above all… Love Because grief is not separate from love. Grief is love that has nowhere to go. For ten years, I have been learning where to put that love and hold them both together.

      

Who She Was

Brittany was the kind of person you felt before you even reached her. You could spot her across a room, and before you had time to react, she was already running toward you, full speed, no hesitation. you would start to brace yourself... and then came the hug, her “flying ninja hug.”

The kind where she jumped to you, wrapping her arms and legs around you like nothing else in the world mattered except that moment. That was her.

Brittany was the one who showed up. She was an athlete, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a teammate, a leader and so much more. She gave herself fully to everything she cared about and everyone she loved. But more than anything…she made people feel seen. She had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world in that moment. Like you mattered. Like you were important.

And if you were lucky enough to be loved by her…you knew it.

She was also hilarious in the most unintentional ways. Like the time she looked at the oven and said, completely serious, “Wow… time is flying, it’s already 365.” Or when she was genuinely concerned that deer were not using the deer crossing signs to cross the road safely and properly.

She made us laugh, she made us feel, She made life lighter just by being in it.

As a little girl, she was curious, adventurous, and full of life. She loved being active, helping with projects, caring for animals, and showing up for others in ways that just felt natural to her.

As she grew into a teenager, she became everything you would hope for and more. She was an All-American girl. High achieving in athletics and academics, disciplined, driven, compassionate. She trained hard, she studied hard, she pushed herself.

But what made her exceptional had nothing to do with stats or wins. It was who she was as a teammate. She competed hard, she wanted to win but when the game ended… win or lose… she made sure everyone on that ice or field knew they were still human first.

Still connected.
Still friends.

The only difference was the jersey they wore.

And if “Party in the USA” came on while she was in the net…she was dancing, because that was Brittany too.

  

Ten Years Without Her… and With Her

The hardest part of losing Brittany hasn’t just been losing her. It’s been watching the world grieve her. There was a “before” Brittany was gone…and there has been an “after” where we’ve all had to learn how to live without her. She didn’t just belong to me, she held pieces of so many people. Her family, her friends, her teammates, her community.

Even ten years later… there is still a void.

That’s how big her life was.
That’s how deeply she loved.

Every morning, Brittany would send out a quote and a song.

The last message she sent said:

“Who you are on the inside is not something to hold back and leave in the shadows, it is something to flaunt around. to be yourself is one of the most brave things someone can do…”

That was her, encouraging others, lifting people up. Telling them to be exactly who they were. Even while carrying more than anyone realized.

What Grief Has Taught Me

People think time heals grief, it doesn't. In these ten years, I have felt everything. Grief that takes your breath away, anger that has nowhere to land, moments where the silence feels louder than anything else. I think I’ve spent a lot of that time trying to replace this day… without erasing it, trying to fill it with purpose. Trying to make it matter, trying to turn pain into something that helps someone else breathe a little easier.

And here’s what I know now. Turning pain into purpose doesn’t erase the pain, but it gives it somewhere to go. Time teaches you how to carry it, there is no moving on there is only moving forward. There is learning how to hold grief in one hand…and still make space for joy in the other.

What I’ve realized is…I don’t have to replace this day. I just have to live it.

Fully.

Honestly.

With grief.

With love.

With whatever shows up.

And I’ll be honest… I didn’t do that well at first. Grief forced me into something I never would have chosen.

Self-compassion.

I had to learn how to take care of myself mentally, physically, emotionally. I had to learn that surviving this kind of loss requires grace for yourself on the days you feel like you’re falling apart… and the days you feel okay because both exist and both are allowed.  

Angela days and birthdays have looked different over the years. Some years, Butchie and I take a short trip, some years, we travel farther. We find ways to move, to breathe, to create moments inside a day that still hurts. No matter where we are the day still finds us, it still hits our hearts with grief but it also gives us a chance to live. To remember, to carry her forward.

Who She Would Be

Brittany should be 28 this year living a life that's still unfolding.  I only get to imagine it, she will forever be 17.

She would be graduated, fully stepping into her adult life. She was planning to be a psychologist and I have no doubt she would have been incredible at it, helping people feel seen… the same way she always did. She had a way of understanding people… of making them feel safe.

Would she be married?
Would she be a mom?
Would she still be chasing adventure the way she always did?

I don’t know those answers.

But I know this…

She would still be kind.

She would still be giving.

And she would still be one of the strongest women I have ever known.  Still the one making people feel like they matter.

What Remains

After ten years… I understand something I didn’t in the beginning.

Grief doesn’t go away, it just learns how to live alongside everything else. They don’t cancel each other out they coexist.

Love that didn’t end.
Love that had to find a new place to go.

I’ve spent years turning pain into purpose.
Not because it erases the pain…
but because it gives it somewhere to go.

That love became conversations.
That love became community.
That love became Fight Like A Ninja… her light still moving in this world.

Her life did not end her impact. It multiplied it.

If You Take Anything From This

If you’re reading this today, check in on someone. Start a conversation you’ve been avoiding. Let go of something heavy you’ve been carrying alone because people are walking around with more than we can see.

And know love… still has somewhere to go.