One year.

To even just write that, one year. It seems impossible. It seems beyond impossible. Like something out of a movie.

In some ways that’s just how it feels. There are moments with the sights and sounds of now that feel like something I’ve watched on TV rather than something I’m actually living. As my phone reminds me of photos and videos from last year I see how my brother was - how incredibly sick - and I’m in shock. A small glimpse of him and I’m at a loss for how he truly looked like he was at deaths door for basically that entire time.

Yet we hoped. We prayed. I believe that for us, in those moments a year ago we were blinded by hope. And not to say that we were naive. Not at all. But truly, our hope protected us - helped us to keep fighting.

The hope that I had protected me from what could happen, even though what could happen did happen. My brother died. It was the potential that loomed in front of me after finding out about his diagnosis. But in my head I remember thinking, No, not my brother. Not my family. I only read about these things online. It’s not actually for us.

I still have these moments where I remember what has happened and it’s as if I’ve been punched in the gut. In that moment it feels as though I live an entire year in five seconds.

That is what this year has been. It’s been those moments of feeling like I’ve just experienced those 43 days all over again. In a simple memory of what has happened I’m taken back to the those days we fought so hard for Mike. I remember calling my friend after just hearing the news, at a complete and total loss. I remember the many hours spent at the hospital because it seemed weird to be any where else. I’m taken back to the moment where I sat by his bed, on his birthday and mine and said things as they came to my head; I realize now I was saying goodbye. I remember the daze that was the following week of planning a memorial service and how weird it felt to be doing that at only 24. I remember the moment of seeing him in the casket and how incredibly fake it felt, yet so so real. I remember that final moment by the graveside realizing that this was over. He was gone. There was no more chance left for him to be raised back to life - I honestly thought God was gonna do it - there was going to be no great miracle that I had put every little bit of my faith into. I remember the collision that was grief. The feeling of everywhere I went it seemed like there was some sort of sign blinking above me saying, “this person is grieving and you should say something about it.” It’s those feelings of grief that felt so public yet no one had a clue nor seemed to care.

This, what I have just written, it happens often. Brief moments yet an entire lifetime all in one. It’s heavy. Some days it crashes with no rhyme or reason. Other days I wish it did, because it made him feel closer.

One year puts more distance between that time. That distance comes with such a heaviness of sadness and a fear of forgetting. Because for as difficult as those flashbacks are, I often welcome them because it somehow keeps Mikael alive. For as hard and brutal as that time was, it was also so weirdly beautiful. And that could be because of how I really do see life like a movie, memories as montages with instrumental music that give all the feels. But now, looking back I say it was beautiful because it was time spent with him, and time spent as a family.

I pray I don’t forget it.

So one year, here you are. I don’t think I’m ready for you to be here, but I know I have no say in the matter. You serve as a reminder of the cruel reality that is losing someone and how quickly time moves on. You also come to remind me that I need to be more present with the people still here. One year, you are not what I necessarily wanted you to be, for somehow I thought I was going to be braver and more even keeled. Yet with you came new opportunities and doors opened. You have also come with the great reminder of how important it is to be present in each moment.

That is what this year has taught. The art of showing up, the art of being vulnerable and real with people and its power. It has revealed a deep sense of beauty in the relationships around me. It also has proven to show the urgency that is living free and abandoned and for each moment.

I’m still learning this (just ask my streaming habits on Netflix) but the thing is, more than ever before I realize how incredibly brief this life is. And along the way the Lord has brought people into my life - specifically in the last six or so months - that remind me of this very thing. And honestly with this are so many moments where I just want to give up and never leave my room and only live in the safety of my very cozy bed.

But if Mikael taught me anything it was to strive for more. To go after dreams. To live differently. To be as God created me; free in spirit, creative at heart and just a straight up emotional chick.

One year.

It’s crazy.

It’s a little intimidating.

Yet here I am. Somehow.

So from my heart to yours, here’s to this first year. Here’s to my words showing up as an invitation for you to journey along with me. Here’s also to many more words, because I know I’ve been created to write in some capacity or another.

Here’s to you and an invitation to be more real and vulnerable.

And here’s to my brother, who is so greatly missed. Here’s to someone that impacted so many in his short 31 years.

Here’s to one year and its significance; it’s wake up call.

And here’s to not moving on, because that’s just a load of crap. But rather, here’s to continuing on with hope because God is faithful. That has been the foundation of this last year. Realizing the pure goodness and faithfulness of God. Realizing it in ways that honestly seem impossible with everything that has happened. It really doesn’t make sense. Yet, Jesus.

Without Him this past year really would have been my last. I’m just being real here. He has such a way of speaking so deeply, so intimately into the very need of my heart. He has taken what has felt so broken and made it into something. He has redeemed the impossible.

Him. Jesus.

He’s incredible.

And with Him one year alone has brought so much healing and redemption. With Him this year has allowed for some of my biggest prayers to be answered. With Him I have journeyed through disappointment and realized the power of even just a little faith.

With Him I know my grief is not in vain, nor my tears meaningless rivers.

He really does take all things and turns them into something beautiful and worth living.

I know this first hand.

To Mike: I miss you. I love you. And how I wish you were still here.