Honor Breann's End of Life

Hello. My name is Samantha, but most of you know me better as Sammi. If you knew Bre, you likely know (or know of) me.

Bre and I were inseparable, joined at the hip for nearly two decades. We were two peas in a pod, alike in so many ways (but Bre was definitely more comical than me). She was the yin to my yang. The looney to my tunes. The creamer to my coffee. The skippy to my scone (inside joke, sorry Bre).

In high school, we never left each other's sides, unless we had the unfortunate experience of being assigned different classes. This didn't deter Bre though. She would just follow me to class and pretend she was supposed to be there the entire time. Sometimes she got away with it. Sometimes she didn't. I was so afraid to break the rules, I'd have an anxiety attack on her behalf. The first time I ever cut class (sorry grandpa) was with Bre. We went behind Skyview, into the woods and foraged for low-bush cranberries. The school never found out (what are you going to do, Skyview? Suspend us retroactively?)

Bre was a fantastic story teller; sometimes she was too good, weaving these intricate tales that left everyone on the edge of their seat. The problem was, she was too mischievous to let her audience know if it was a true story or not. She always loved to keep people guessing. Sometimes this got her into trouble, but no matter what she stuck to her story. No matter how elaborate or outlandish they were. So many times I rolled my eye and sarcastically said "Okay Bre. Whatever you say."

Bre stood by my side throughout some of the worst moments of my life. When I couldn't speak up for myself, she took matters into her own hands. She was fiercely protective of me and for that, I can never thank her enough. I don't know how I would have made it without her holding my hand.

Bre and I practically lived together growing up. We spent the night at each other's houses constantly, even on weekdays. Her family was my family (and still is) and my family was her family (and still is). When I got married, nothing changed. She came over nearly daily, and we went on adventures, babies in tow. My poor husband got more than his fair share of our antics (but handled it beautifully). Because no matter how much she annoyed him (and trust me, she did) it was the kind of annoying you'd experience with a kid sister; they annoy the bejeebus out of you, but you loved them to bits. She loved to poke at him, telling him she's the third wheel, the platonic sister-wife, and whatever witty quip she had that day. Reality was, if there was Sammi, there was Bre. If there was Bre, there was Sammi.

Bre had such an unusual sense of humor. You had to know her to understand it. When I had my first baby, Bre was clearly excited to see her, but the first words out of her mouth were "Great. Now you've ruined both of our lives with a teenage pregnancy," (and of course, snatching MY baby immediately after she said this for cuddles and kisses). And despite her never ending jokes about birth control, she adored my children (and eventually her own) with every fiber of her being.

Bre was obsessed with my kids. She would tease me about having so many, or being so young, or even how gross babies were, yet every time she came over, she came with snacks and treats for them. My kids loved her. She got on the floor, sat on the toys, danced, crawled in the grass, really on their level in everything. To them, she was another really big kid. So much so, that Maddi often tried to tattle to me, requesting I put Bre in timeout for her various (playful) offenses to Madison.

When I gave birth to my third baby, I wanted Bre to be there with me. My husband passes out with anything medical and I wanted someone there I could count on. Bre did not want to go. She was so grossed out by the idea of birth. She finally relented and told me she would go under two conditions; 1. She would stay at the head side of the bed 2. She was not touching the baby until they cleaned it up. These demands went out the window once labor hit and Bre jumped into the role of labor support in such a way it exceeded any and all expectations exponentially. After Ava was born, I couldn't stop shaking. I was scared to hold the baby out of fear I would drop her. Bre snatched her up, birth goop, blood and all, held her close to her chest and exclaimed "I don't care if you're disgusting. I love you!!!!"

Bre was far from perfect, and faced struggles in her life that we can only count ourselves lucky to have never experienced. But she loved with all of her heart through this all. It was never her intention to hurt anyone, myself and her family included. She was a broken person, facing struggles I am not sure I could ever comprehend. As these struggles intensified, I found myself forced to establish boundaries with someone I loved with all of my heart. It was one of the most painful and difficult things I have ever had to do. The level of anguish and hurt this caused is indescribable. The dynamics of our relationship changed. I remember in 2016 feeling as if the Bre I knew and loved had died. I remember walking the stages of grief (and cycling back to a stage I thought I was already past), feeling like some thing was walking around in Bre's body. The Bre I knew and loved wasn't here anymore and it was impossible for me to reconcile this. This was a reality I couldn't accept. I was SCREAMING inside and no one could hear it. I just wanted her back. The real Bre. The Bre I knew and loved. I would have given anything ANYTHING for a time machine, just once, to go back before this. To go back in time and fix it before it ever happened. I still wish I could. It killed me in more ways than I can list to see her that way. Bre was no less a part of my life than my husband and children were; the idea of a future without her was impossible to face.

I loved Bre with all of my heart and always did, but I knew I couldn't help her when she hit her lowest; only she could save herself. Nothing I could do was going to matter. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't save her. Only she could. I did the only thing I knew how and stepped in to be there for her kids in every way I possibly could. It was the only thing I could do for her. It was the only way I could help her. And I knew from the very bottom of my heart, this was what the Bre I knew and loved would have wanted from me.

Slowly, with time (and setbacks), the real Bre started coming through. Things got lighter. Happier. Bre was really fighting to live the life she knew she wanted. That was one thing I will always admire her for; no matter how badly she messed up, she owned it. She acknowledged it. She understood and recognized that trust took time to build, time to lose and time to repair. She never held it against me or resented me for needing that space or that time. The more we talked, the more time we spent together, the more I started to see that glimmer of hope. This was really happening. This was the Bre I knew and loved. She was back. This was the Bre I mourned and would have done anything to bring back. She's really here and it's going to be okay again. She was okay. We were okay. Everything was going back to how it should be. It almost started to feel like it was before. The level of relief and joy this brought, I cannot even describe. I felt like a broken piece of my heart was finally healing.

Over the summer, we started spending more time together. More calls. More texts. More walks. More inside jokes. We were getting back to where we were. And I loved her for all the work she put in. She fought like hell to climb up from rock bottom and I couldn't have been more proud of her. The future was starting to look the way I had envisioned it. We were going to be okay. We really were.

And then on the morning of Sunday, February 12th, my yin, my soul, my skippy, was strangled to death. Just like that. Game over. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. No second chances. No hope. No future. No goals. No aspirations. Everything was wiped out in a matter of moments, all for nothing. And there's nothing any of us can do to fix this. Nothing.

Our hearts are shattered into a million pieces. I don't feel like this wound will ever heal. Nothing will ever be the same again. This will never stop hurting and so many of us will never recover from this pain. And I am now asking our community for support in honoring the end of Breann's all-too-short life, and giving her the send-off to the next life she deserves. Between the devastation and sobbing, we are faced with coming up with the funds to pay for her final disposition, as well as planning how to honor and celebrate her. Bre was far from perfect, but I loved her with all of my heart. So many of us did. I humbly ask that you help support laying her to rest, not only for her memory, but for the sake of those of us she left behind with shattered hearts. We are not okay and I'm not sure we ever will be.

-Sammi & Family