October 27, 2014. Today in the news, New York, New Jersey, and Illinois issued a mandatory 21-day quarantine for all health workers coming back from West Africa. The UK officially ended its combat operations in Afghanistan. Dilma Rousseff was reelected as Brazil’s president. On any other day, I would be interested in these tidbits of information. But this is not any other day. Today is your 24th birthday.      

Five years ago, my sister was diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma, a rare bone cancer that is typically found in the long bones of the legs and arms, or bones in the chest, trunk, pelvis, back or head. It was around Christmastime, and my sister, Brenna, was back from school for the holidays. Our family decided to spend that year in a house we rented on the coast of California. Brenna had been making a few comments here and there about a discomfort in her hip, but didn’t make a huge fuss about it. Complaining was never her style, that was my job. If I was uncomfortable, the world may as well be ending as far as I’m concerned, and I made sure to let everyone know it.   

It wasn’t until a few weeks had passed with the pain persisting that she decided to consult a doctor. That was when we found out this pain was more than just uncomfortable, it was cancerous. As soon as I heard the news I went straight to Google, curious about this disease that had taken hold of my sister’s body. One thing that stood out to me was that it was prevalent in people ages 19-20. How could that be possible? And how could my sister have been one of the few to have it?   

That last question basically encompassed all my previous notions of cancer. I knew of it, and the severity of it, and whether I was familiar with it or not my heart still went out to anyone who had to deal with it. But it wasn’t something that I had to deal with and definitely wasn’t something someone as close to me as my sister would have to deal with. But all of the sudden, it was.   

For the next five years, Brenna treated her cancer as if it was still just that pain in her hip at Christmas, so minuscule that she could brush it away as easily as she could a bug on her shoulder. I had never seen someone with such a positive outlook during such an onerous time. Whether it was a good day or bad, she never let herself be discouraged by her situation, nor did she allow anyone else to be. Throughout the entire five years, she never ceased to amaze me with her fierce determination, which I will always admire.   

This past summer continued to be a series of ups and downs. Brenna had moved to Maryland a few months prior, on track to start a new trial treatment. So far, we were thankful for the doctors’ proactive approaches, accompanied with physical therapy on her leg and some nutritional therapy. As far as we knew then, all was well on the road to remission.        

Come mid-July, however, things took a turn for the worse. I’ll never forget waking up to the messages that changed my life. Unknowingly, I scrolled through my notifications as I walked to the kitchen, my eyes still barely open. I saw multiple texts from my Dad, which caught my attention. As I began to read, my emotions flooded in before I could even finish reading. My family caught the first plane to DC, informing me that even if I left Columbia that minute, I wouldn’t be able to make it in time. In that moment, my legs failed me, my body shook, and for the first time in my life, I had to remind myself to breathe.   

My hero, my inspiration, and my sister passed away on July 21, 2014. Being the fighter that she is, she made it to the five-year mark with an unwavering will to fight until the very end. Although her time here was fleeting, it was packed with an incredible amount of experience and memories. Her legacy is a clear, bright example of how best to live, and that is something I will strive to follow each and every day.   

Today is your 24th birthday, big sis. Although I wish I could have spent it with you, I take comfort in knowing you’re in a good place. So happy birthday, Bren - I will be devastated if I find out you celebrated in any other way than with your own personal concert from The Beatles.