Fiona asked me to talk about my perspective on this whole situation and as of right now as I have moved paragraphs around and read over what I've written and it all kind of seems jumbled and not very connected. But that's kind of what blogging is. It's a big long run-on sentence, or lots of paragraphs about different things that don't necessarily make sense. I thought about the things I would talk about and how I would want to remember Brooklyn, and how I've been affected by Brooklyn's death. There are so many things I would like to say that I just may have to write more than one entry. Bear with me as I type out my thoughts and feelings through this journey with my best friend.
Fiona and I have been friends since we were teenagers. Throughout highschool, we were attached at the hip. If you had to find one of us, you would call the other one. She has been my best friend now for 9 years and we have been through a lot together. Brooklyn's death is another notch on our friendship belt, and although it isn't a good road, it is one I will ride with her and stand beside her on.
When I first found out Fiona was pregnant, I was over the moon excited for her. Selfishly, I was a little upset because Chris and I were not ready to have a baby, I had dreamed of being pregnant with her and having our babies grow up together. That feeling of frustration and anxiety is now a blessing. I know that Chris and I are not ready to have a baby for more reasons than just finances. They say you're never really "ready" to have a baby - but I know that God had a larger plan for us to not be pregnant at the same time as our best friends. We have been able to be there for them in ways not everyone could be. It's hard to explain, and it seems strange to say we weren't "ready" because of this… but I truly believe that we weren't ready because we were being prepared(as much as that makes sense) for this. He was allowing us to grow in our relationship and our friendship with Derek and Fiona so we could be there for them and fully support them.
I've experienced death before in my life, both my grandfathers passed away when I was very young, my MorMor (Swedish for mother's mother) passed away when I was 10, a classmate when I was 11 and a close friend when I was 18. I had never felt so numb about a death before, I don't ever remember having that terrifying experience of death or really ever feeling so heartbroken when someone passed away. Until Brooklyn. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Babies aren't supposed to die. Only old people, and nothing tragic, just in their sleep. Unfortunately that isn't the way the world works. This was a different experience of death. This was something no one saw coming, and something that no one could prepare you for. Brooklyn was supposed to be the "big sister" of the kids in our group, she was supposed to be my honorary niece. I wanted to be able to pop over whenever I wanted to snuggle her, spoil her and let her mama sleep. Now I'm still popping over whenever I want to, but instead of letting her mama sleep, or stealing snuggles, I'm weeping with my best friend and my heart is broken for her.
The death of Brooklyn Adelaide has changed me. It's changed my relationship with my husband, my parents, my friends who may not know Fiona well or at all. It has also changed my relationship with Fiona and with Derek. Change is not always a bad thing, but this isn't the change I was anticipating. I won't go into detail about how my other relationships have changed but I will talk about my relationship with Fiona. My relationship with Fiona has always been an honest one, we are very close and are very honest with each other. If something is bothering one of us, we know it by the way we talk, act, the look on our face or even our body language. We are now still very honest with each other, but there are more tears, and more questions and more time spent together talking about Brooklyn. The time we spend together now is also more intentional, sometimes it's sitting in a coffee shop or going for a drive but sometimes it's mindless, and sitting in silence and that's something I really treasure about my friendship with her. There is no awkward silence, there is no forced conversation. I feel honoured to be one of her "go-to" friends, I have always enjoyed being able to open up to Fiona, and I love the trust we have between the two of us. These last 2(ish) months have changed our relationship and we are definitely closer because of it. I'm blessed by her friendship. I'm proud to be in her life and to stand beside her. She may be quiet, but she is witty, sarcastic and incredibly loving.
I look at life a little bit differently now, I used to be drawn to babies, peeking in every stroller, playing peekaboo in a lineup, trying to catch a smile from a little one but now I'm a bit more cautious so I don't approach a stroller and burst into tears. Its happened once or twice already and it makes people uncomfortable. The name Brooklyn seems to be everywhere. Working in a restaurant we sell Brooklyn lager, and I hadn't heard anyone order that beer, not even once, before she passed away. Now I hear it often. I'm a little less anxious about things, I've always been a little on the hyper side, if you know me at all you probably realized that within the first five minutes of meeting me. Now I realize that a lot of the things we worry about - are so tiny and so irrelevant. I sometimes overhear people saying things at work or in public and I want to look at them and say "THATS WHAT YOU'RE COMPLAINING ABOUT!?!" Don't get me wrong, there are things we can complain about, and we are all guilty of it… but at the same time it doesn't REALLY matter if you ordered your steak medium rare and it came out medium, or that shirt you wanted to buy that's on sale that is only left in XL or XXS. It doesn't matter that your beer isn't cold - I mean it would be nice… but there are worse things in the world. I'm not trying to say that unless something tragic happens we shouldn't complain, or that we shouldn't worry about things unless it's a BIG life event - but it could always be worse. That term "first world problems" really has never been more true.
Not a day passes that I don't think about Brooklyn. Fiona and I have always been in contact throughout the week - even before she was pregnant. Now there are days where our text messages are just a heart emoticon back and forth. Or sometimes it's an I love you and I'm here for you. There are other days we have full conversations and we both are having good days. But there are a lot of days that I would give anything to see my best friend glowing again. To see her talk about those kicks and her moving around, to plan dates to spend time together. My heart is broken for my best friend. Yes, this story IS about Brooklyn, and it IS about honouring her and remembering her. But my sadness is so much more than just Brookie. My best friend will never be the same, a piece of her is missing and there is nothing I can do or say to fix that for her. I can try my best, and my hardest, and I have. I will continue to try to make her smile and make her feel appreciated and let her know that I am there for her. But I will never fill the void - and I'm okay with that because no one can ever replace Brooklyn. There are days where I want to distract Fiona from any of her thoughts of sadness and I want to protect her and let her just have a day of fun without being sad… but that's not why I'm her friend. I'm her friend so that she can cry around me, or tell me she doesn't feel like hanging out today, or tell me that she really needs someone today.
On the way home from meeting Brooklyn on Saturday afternoon, I listened to a song by Serena Ryder called Mary Go Round. I've always loved the song, but it hits me a little bit harder now.
"Have you ever looked up, and laughed at the big blue sky? Have you ever wondered, have you ever wondered why? Why you always hide. Sing along, sun down, Mary go round, too young to leave this town. Someone's singing your song, feels good, what could go wrong?"
There are so many things that remind me of her, and I seem to always to play this song on my way to her grave when I go to visit her. I also have a habit of taking Gerbera daisies. These things now seem "normal." How does a sad song and a couple of pink Gerbera daisies on a tiny little grave become normal? There will be so many other things that will become normal in remembering her life, and I won't stop sharing those with the people around me.
I'll always remember you, Brooklyn.
Auntie Sammy loves you.
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