When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
(HARUKI MURAKAMI, KAFKA ON THE SHORE)
It’s the first anniversary of Joanna’s death. Her sisters, Laura and Tamara, are in the master bedroom, packing her clothes into boxes. Naysa is with them, pulling the items back out as fast as they go in. She’s making her own pile of Joanna’s things that she intends to keep. Brenna watches, heavyhearted, from the doorway. Her dad has gone for a walk, not able to take part in the packing up.
Laura sighs. She sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space beside her. “Come here, Naysa,” she says.
Naysa drops a sweater onto the pile and then sits beside her aunt. Tamara leans against the chest of drawers, her arms crossed.
“You know you’re not going to wear all those things, Naysa.”
Naysa shrugs. Brenna hasn’t seen her look so miserable in weeks. She’s having trouble holding it together herself. The weeks leading up to this day have been extra painful.
Laura looks from Naysa to Brenna and then to Tamara. “I have an idea. Why don’t each of us choose one of Joanna’s scarves to keep forever. Each time we wrap the scarf around our shoulders we can think of it as Joanna wrapping her arms around us. Everything else we’ll pack up and give away. Someone who really needs clothes will be so happy to get them.” She puts an arm around Naysa and squeezes her in. “Your mom would like that.”
Brenna crosses the room and joins them on the bed, sitting cross-legged. Tamara follows suit. “I think it’s a good plan,” Brenna says. “And I’m going to spray a bit of her perfume on the scarf I choose.”
Laura nods. “What about you, Tamara?”
“Yeah. I agree. We have lots of pictures and memories. Keeping her stuff won’t bring her back.”
“Naysa?” Laura asks gently.
The tears are streaming down Naysa’s cheeks. She turns and buries her face in her aunt’s chest, but Brenna can see that she’s nodding.
Tamara gets up and begins to lay all of Joanna’s scarves out along the bed. “Girls, you choose first.”
Brenna selects a long, intricately woven wool scarf with dangling tassels. “Do you want this one, Nayse?”
Naysa shakes her head.
“Okay, then I’ll take it and wear it on the cold days on the mountain.” She wraps it around her neck and glances at herself in the mirror.
Reluctantly Naysa climbs off the bed too. She reaches down and chooses a brightly colored silk scarf. “This one reminds me of Mom,” she says. “It’s so pretty.”
Brenna takes it from her and shows her a new way to twist it, and then puts it around Naysa’s neck. Naysa looks at herself in the mirror. She smiles sadly.
Both aunts choose scarves and wrap them around their necks, despite the heat of the day. Then together they pack the rest of Joanna’s clothes into boxes and load them into the trunk of Laura’s car. Brenna’s dad arrives home just as her aunts are pulling away from the curb. Brenna, Naysa and their dad watch them drive down the street.
In the kitchen the box of pizza sits on the table. There is a stack of DVDs on the counter, all borrowed from the library.
“I found as many of your mom’s favorite movies as I could,” her dad says. “And it’s Friday night. How about a movie-and-pizza marathon? I think your mom would have loved that.”
Brenna takes plates out of the cupboard while Naysa flips through the DVDs. “This one first,” Naysa says, holding up Disney Nature’s Bears.
“A documentary?” her dad asks.
“It’s the one Mom would have chosen first,” she says.
Her dad takes it from her and plugs it into the player in the family room. The three of them sit shoulder to shoulder on the couch, their dad in the middle, the girls wearing their scarves. Plates of pizza sit on their laps.
As the movie begins Brenna remembers how her cousin Danika had said that it would be the first occasions after her mom’s death that would be the hardest. Although she resented the remarks at the time, she suspects that Danika was right. Today is the last of the firsts. They have made it through Christmas, Mother’s Day, Easter, birthdays. With her newfound circle of support, and her mom’s indomitable spirit to keep them all going, she knows they will get through the second year too.
Dear Kia,
On my 16th birthday my mom (who has now passed away) gave me the journal you kept when you were pregnant with me. You wrote me a letter at the end of your journal, and now I feel I want to write you a letter in return, almost seventeen years later, so you can see how the choices you made ended up being good ones—for me, anyway.
Thank you for giving me the journal. At first it felt really weird to read about myself before I was even born, but I came to know you as a 16-year-old girl and really felt how much you loved me.
Thank you, too, for selecting Mom and Dad for me. They turned out to be great parents. Even though Mom has died, I realize how much I’ve come to be like her. We both love the outdoors and animals, especially wild animals! Every day I work to be as kind and compassionate as she was.
You are still my biological mother, though, and even if we never meet again, I am still learning from you. I sense that you and I are a lot alike too. Keeping a journal has helped me vent—just like you did in yours. And from your sister and Justin I’ve learned that you are passionate about working with children. Being in nature and around animals is what makes me happy.
The pain of losing my mom still feels fresh in many ways. I’m planning to keep her spirit alive by continuing to raise funds for breast cancer research. Maybe that will mean her life didn’t end too soon for nothing. I might even go into medicine someday and continue the work to find a cure. If not that, I’ll work at preserving the planet so that the wild animals we both loved will be able to thrive. In this way you and I are the same. We want to do work that matters to us.
Anyway, thanks again for giving me the journal. I imagine it will bring back some memories for you. But knowing that it all turned out well for me will, I hope, bring you some happiness.
Love,
Brenna
Brenna puts down her pen and reads what she has written. It will have to do. She picks up Kia’s journal and runs her hand over its rough surface one last time. She folds the letter, tucks it into the journal and puts that into a large envelope. She prints Kia on the front. Angie has promised to keep it until she feels Kia is ready for it.
From: brennayoko@gmail.com
To: ryanfromdownunder@hotmail.com
I did it! Got my driver’s license! I’m a big girl now! LOL.
And guess what. The countdown has started. In less than one year I will be winging my way to Borneo to meet Cinta. When I get sick and tired of the dog hikes, I remind myself of why I’m doing them and it helps. You won’t recognize me, I’ll be in such great shape. 
Which reminds me—you already wouldn’t recognize Naysa. She’s grown about a foot—she’s taller than me—and the yoga has been really good for her. I don’t think I made a hiker out of her, but she’s talking about taking some dance classes to stay in shape. I think that would be good—dancing is such a joyful thing to do. Who couldn’t use a little more joy in their lives? Despite some rough patches, she seems to be doing okay.
Big news! Justin is getting what he wished for. Kia has announced that she is marrying her British doctor, and Justin will conduct a service when they come home at Christmas. I don’t know if Angie will give her my letter or even tell her about how we connected. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. Justin was right—I felt better just writing a letter to her.
Love you and miss you.
Brenna
PS. The bears miss you too.
PPS. Can’t wait to meet the koala bears.