Brittany, age 27 died instantly when she was shot by her ex-husband while she rinsed out a teapot. This was one of many headlines in the days that followed her murder.

That was May 7, 2011, but before she died that day, she was born. Today is that day. She would have been thirty-one today. I knew her only a short time, but in that time she taught me things.

Quietly.

Unintentionally.

For my part, skeptically.

She showed me things about myself, things I didn’t like, things I regret, but I managed to come through them, and I couldn’t have done that without her help in the weeks before she died and for the year after, as I mourned her.

I learned.

Compassion.

Understanding.

Tolerance.

Less judgment.

Help for no reason but to help.

Yes, even if you’re angry.

Cooperation.

Kindness.

She was there when no one else was at a moment that it mattered. One moment, but it was an important one, and it mattered.

And so did she.

Happy Birthday, Brittany. I know your spirit is soaring; I can hear the flutter in the air.