The Body Keeps the Score

Your body remembers the exact feeling of the moments that change your life forever. The air feels different. Your chest feels heavy. Time slows down in a way that makes every second burn into your memory. Those days become engraved in your soul.

Today is one of those days for me.

Today is the day I last heard the voice of my little best friend. She really was the true definition of the BEST friend.

I remember sitting in outpatient with Aubrey when the doctors said they were going to admit her to the hospital. She didn’t even flinch. Not even a little. She was in so much pain that the idea of being admitted actually sounded good to her. And that alone broke my heart, because anyone who knew Aubrey knew how hard she fought to stay out of the hospital. For three years she did everything she could to avoid those walls.

But that night was different.

That night I quickly organized Cybertrucks to come do a light show outside her hospital window. Her parents turned her hospital bed so she could face the glass. I remember standing outside helping set it up. The lights reflected on the building while we all tried so hard to give her one moment of joy in the middle of so much pain.

While we were setting up, Aubrey asked if I could come upstairs.

I remember going home later that night and crying until my eyes hurt. The kind of crying where you cannot breathe. The kind where you feel something inside your chest quietly breaking.

I posted one year ago today “God won’t put you through something you can’t handle”.

Before I left she asked for comfy pajama sets. Just something soft and cozy. So simple. So her.

I ordered them on Amazon with a 7 AM delivery so I could bring them to her first thing the next morning.

I left that night, I gave her the gentlest hug because her body had become so fragile. She looked at me and said, “I love you.”

I told her I would see her tomorrow.

And I did.

But tomorrow was not the same.

When I walked into the room she didn’t squeal with excitement when she saw the presents. She didn’t grab my phone to take a hundred selfies like she always did. We didn’t sit there catching up about drama or laughing at the silly things we always laughed about.

When I saw her the next day, Aubrey was coding in a hospital bed.

They were rushing her into emergency brain surgery.

I cannot even begin to explain what I saw in that moment. Some things are too heavy for words. It was something no human being should ever have to witness. Something no family should ever have to face. Something no child should ever have to go through.

For the next five days we prayed.

Five long days of begging for a miracle that never came.

Five days of laying next to her while her tiny body was covered in tubes. Machines breathing for her. Monitors beeping through the quiet of the room. Her head wrapped not in her usual headbands or cute hats, but in a bandage with a sign that read “Left Brain Flap.”

I remember staring at that sign thinking, what the F is happening right now.

I stood there looking at her. Completely frozen. Shocked. Stunned. No tears. No emotions. Just silence inside my body. I could not process that I was losing my best friend.

The girl who could make me laugh on the darkest days.

The girl I spent all my free time with.

The girl who filled every room with joy.

I never thought cancer would take her. I never believed it would. Not her. Not Aubrey. I never once allowed my mind to imagine a world where she was not in it.

But that world came anyway.

And here we are a year later.

The world is quieter without you.

The colors are not as bright.

There are still days I pick up my phone because I want to tell you something. And then I remember.

But every single day since you went to heaven, I see what I call my Cybertruck of the day. Sometimes it drives past me. Sometimes it is parked somewhere random. Sometimes I see it when I need it the most.

And every time I do, I think of you.

I think about that night outside your hospital window. Our last memory together here on earth. The lights shining just for you.

And I know somehow you are still sending little pieces of yourself down here to remind me you are still with me.

Aubrey once wrote this to me.

“I just wanted to say thank you so much for being there for me in the bad and good days. I love you to the moon and beyond. Thank you. I hope you have the best day ever. You are the best person on earth.”

If I could answer you now, this is what I would say.

Aubrey, thank you for letting me be part of your life. Thank you for every laugh, every memory, every moment that made my world brighter.

I love you to the moon and beyond too.

And now you are the best person in heaven.

I hope heaven gives you the softest pajamas, and the most beautiful light shows every night.

Until I see you again, my best friend. I really miss you, I’ve missed you every single day since March 13th 2025, the last time I heard your voice. Keep on dancing with the angels