Inhale. Thereโs a lot to take in โ too much, even โ when every breath โ every lame, rackety, strained breath youโve ever taken โ could be your last. When you canโt breathe without your nightly โtappies,โ your parents thumping your sides like a ketchup bottle. When your two-week-long tuneups at the hospital go from three times last year to seven times this year. When, as you follow the progression of the older children like you โ the airway-clearance vests, the feeding tubes, the oxygen machines โ you realize how many of them are not coming back. When youโre told you wonโt make it to age 18. When this is your normal โ
Exhale. Youโre going to see the world differently. Youโre going to have your own take on things โ on the realities, fears and values of life and your position within it. Itโs how you express that perspective โ how you process it and what you do with it โ that gives your struggle purpose. Thatโs the gift you offer โ and itโs that honesty, that insight, that draws people in and makes them want to listen. Thatโs when youโve found your voice โ and, as Brennen Reeves โ14 has learned, thatโs when you can finally breathe it all in.
by Alicia Lutz โ98
photography by Diana Deaver
Everybody knew Brennen Reeves โ14 had cystic fibrosis. He didnโt have to write a one-man show to tell people heโd had a double lung transplant. People knew. Heโs from Hilton Head Island, S.C. Everyone knows everything there.
Even when he was five weeks old, they knew something was up. The doctors called it โfailure to thriveโ until the blood work came back from California. Then they called it: cystic fibrosis, or CF โ an incurable genetic disorder that affects the lungs, making it difficult to breathe, and hobbling patients with frequent lung infections, among other problems. The only person who didnโt know was Brennen. And maybe his older brother Michael.
These brothers were different. And they knew that. They knew Brennen had to do stuff that Michael didnโt. All that medicine, the therapy, the โtappies,โ the tubes, tanks โ Michael didnโt have to do that. His body was never completely arrested by spasms caused by a cough, caused by a laugh.
Donโt make Brennen laugh. Heโs having a hard day.
Michael didnโt have to go to Atlanta for tuneups, either. So he didnโt know what Brennen knew: He was just like all the other kids on the CF wing of the Egleston Childrenโs Hospital. They, too, were there for tuneups โ those two- to three-week stays where they pump you up with antibiotics, deal with whatever havoc the CF is currently wreaking on your body and try to cheer you up with celebrities and clowns.
Brennen knew a lot of things that Michael didnโt know. He knew that children die. Friends die. Theyโre there one day, and, the next, their bed is empty. Their name is wiped off the white board. They donโt exist.
Brennen knew, too, that kids donโt always have parents. Or, they do, but their parents just drop them off on the CF wing and donโt come back until itโs time to pick them up. They just sit there alone for two weeks. Alone with their disease. For two weeks.
And then, sometimes, there were kids who did have parents, but then one parent would leave. The family would break. It was too much for them. Cystic fibrosis isnโt easy on families. It can rip them apart. It can make people leave. Brennen knew that. Heโd seen it. So, by the time Brennen really knew he had cystic fibrosis, it wasnโt the worst thing heโd figured out. And it certainly wasnโt a surprise. It was normal. It didnโt get in his way. Mostly because it was his way.
Sure, it sucked when he had to take a break from playing with his friends in the middle of a game, or when he had to leave his buddies in the middle of the school year. Or when he couldnโt for the life of him catch his breath. But it was normal. And he was normal.
โHe was never insecure about himself or his abilities,โ says Ann Reeves, Brennenโs mom. โIf he wants something, he doesnโt hesitate. Heโs never been shy.โ
โThere was nothing Brennen didnโt think he could do,โ agrees his dad, Mike Reeves. โHe thought he could do everything, every sport, whatever. And he did.โ
He could do everything the โnormalโ kids did. Except breathe.
But thatโs how things were: Normal, with exception.
Normal: Went to summer camp. Kissed a girl.
Except: Was a camp for kids dying from terminal diseases. She died two years later.
Normal: Went kayaking with his brother in the creek behind the house.
Except: Always brought along a rope so that, when Brennen got tired, Michael could tow him back to the house.
Normal: Went on weeklong family vacations to the beach.
Except: Never actually left town.
โWe just rented an oceanfront house in Hilton Head and spent a week at the beach. The kids never knew where we were,โ laughs Mike. โYou just didnโt plan getaways or long vacations. You just never knew when Brennen would get sick.โ
And thatโs just it: Brennen was sick. He had CF. You canโt get rid of CF. Everybody knows that. So what do you do? Stop? Give up? Let it fill your life with that vicious, sticky gunk? Well, no. Of course not. You just do what youโve got to do. CF isnโt an excuse. Itโs not a license to give up or not to finish what youโve started. It doesnโt permit families to abandon each other or to fall apart.
Thereโs no option for walking away in the Reeves family. Theyโve started something here. And so, when Ann and Brennen get back from a two-week-long tuneup, you better believe things will pick up right where they were left.
Brennen will take off like it never happened, like heโs forgotten what heโs just left behind, and the rest of the family will get right back into the groove, too: playing baseball at the Crossings Park, worshipping at St. Lukeโs Episcopal Church and โ at least six nights a week โ sitting down together for the family dinner, complete with all the typical sibling squabbling.
Michael: โChew with your mouth closed, man!โ
Ann [looking at Michael sharply]: โMichael, he canโt. Heโs having a hard time breathing.โ
Michael: โThe kidโs killing me! Iโve got to go eat somewhere else! Iโm going crazy! Come on, dude, youโre going to have to help me out a little bit!โ
Brennen [rattling through an inhale]: โPass the potatoes.โ
Normalcy restored.
PROTECTED BY THE MOSS-DRAPED OAKS ON THE BANKS OF POINT COMFORT CREEK, THE REEVESโ HOME IS LIKE A COMFORTABLE EMBRACE โ THE KIND THAT RESPECTS YOUR SPACE. If you lived there, you might never want to leave. But Brennen has to leave every now and then. Itโs what people do.
In that house, though, Brennen is normal. In that family, everything is OK, everything is normal โ Brennen never had to question that. He might be the only one with CF. He might be the only one not going anywhere on a sports scholarship. He might never grow past everyone elseโs shoulder. He might be the answer to โOne of These Things Is Not Like the Others.โ But โ contrary to that songโs lyrics โ he belongs there. He fits into the normal.
Hilton Head isnโt a big place. In the mid-โ90s, it was even smaller. If you lived there year round, people recognized you. The kids had all seen each other before; the parents had all seen the kids before โ they knew which tanned, freckled face with Hi-Cโstained mouth belonged to whom. Brennen, the parents knew, had CF; the kids just knew he coughed a lot. He was part of the normal.
Sometimes, though, his normal didnโt add up.
Like that early summer evening after his kid-pitch baseball game at the Crossings Park, when the adults were all milling around talking about boring adult stuff, and he decided to run the bases.
Itโll be so cool if I dive into home head first! he thought as he crossed third. And, like any other impulsive 10-year-old kid, he didnโt consider what might actually happen until it was too late.
The feeding tube in his stomach had ripped open and blood was gushing out, soaking his shirt.
As heads turned and breaths gasped, Brennen realized: No one else on this field gets fed through a tube while they sleep. Iโm the only one.
These things are going to happen. You just have to learn your limits. Or not.
A thing about Brennen: He likes to start trouble.
Maybe thatโs because โ with the protection of his brother and his best friend โ he knows he can get away with it. Everyone on the island knew youโd have hell to pay if you messed with Brennen โ and if he messed with you, well, best not respond.
Hereโs why: 1. One punch, and youโll send him to the hospital. And heโll probably die. And thatโs hard to live with โ knowing youโve killed a tiny kid with cystic fibrosis. 2. Ian Anderson, who is 6โ7โ, 320 pounds and ferociously protective of Brennen.
There werenโt any two kids more physically different than Brennen and Ian. If youโre of their fathersโ generation, imagine Mutt and Jeff. If youโre of their generation, think Rob and Big. The point is, together, their presence is alarming.
And, growing up through high school, the two were always together. Every day after school, they drove around the island in Ianโs black Dodge Ram. Sometimes theyโd end up having long conversations down at the power lines โ their hangout spot at the end of some dirt road โ sometimes theyโd be upstairs playing video games at Brennenโs house or outside on the dock, just talking. In a language no one else could understand. Stuff like this: โI betttttttt, do you? werdddddddd. Peace Presh, SREEEEEEEEEEE.โ Yeah, who knows. Not important. Itโs whatโs behind the language that matters.
โIan is probably the best thing to happen to Brennen,โ says Michael. โWhen Brennen was around Ian, he was happy. I donโt think there was one time that those two werenโt having the time of their life together. If Brennenโs sick at home and Ian happens to come over, itโs like the kidโs not sick anymore: They can sit there and die laughing together.โ
Case in point: Ianโs note while Brennen was preparing for his double lung transplant: โPeople say friendship is one mind in two bodies. Most who know us would agree โฆ but we still have that one mind aspect. People go crazy trying to understand the gibberish we say 24/7, but somehow we get it? I donโt know, maybe we are that off. How lucky I am to be considered your best friend, and these people calling showed me how lucky I really am, as well as how many people care about you. You touch so many lives every day and Iโm always next to you along for the ride.โ
Itโs true: Brennen has a ton of people who care about him. A ton. There were the prayers, well wishes and phone calls โ all that, you canโt even quantify. But letโs just look at the numbers from the online journal that Annโs sister, Mary Watson, kept while he was preparing for and recovering from his double lung transplant in 2011. There were 28,823 page visits. If you print out the book of guestsโ entries, it is 682 pages.
โThe journal and guestbook helped Anne, Mike and Michael connect with others in a way that demonstrated they were not alone in this battle for Brennenโs life and breath,โ says Brennenโs Aunt Mary, who, he says, was a โreal warriorโ in taking on the challenge of guiding 25,000 people through his daily struggle โ and of keeping their faith alive. โOh, boy, if I missed writing a post a few days, people asked about it โ it was then I realized how important this was for not just the family, but for those who love and care about Brennen.โ
Back on Hilton Head Island, Brennen was a bit of a celebrity. Everybody knew him. But Ian knew him, knew him. Ian knew that, if he asked Brennen how his doctorโs appointment went, all heโd get was, โGood.โ
He knew Brennen didnโt want him to bring it up. Brennen didnโt talk about CF. And if he did โ if he threw out something like, โSo, I went to this party after my lung collapsed โฆโ โ Ian knew it was serious.
And sometimes it was serious.
MIKE AND ANN WERE BOTH THINKING IT: Oh, boy, weโve got a problem. Weโve never seen it this bad before. Things are different this time. This is a different sick.
It was December 2010. Brennen had just returned from his first semester at the College. And things had deteriorated. Big time.
The doctors had told him at age 15 that heโd need a double lung transplant by age 18. Here he was at 19; he didnโt have much longer. He was on oxygen 24/7 and couldnโt walk more than 5 feet. Mike had to carry him up stairs. Brennen couldnโt even think, really. It was his last run. His last stretch. He knew that.
He knew that he wouldnโt make it without a transplant. And he knew the risks. What he didnโt know was how heโd be when he emerged from surgery โ if he emerged from surgery. But he had to take a chance. He didnโt want to let his family down.
The Reeves finish what they start. Quitting isnโt an option.
Brennen was going to be the poster boy for a double lung transplant. He was going to sail right through it. Thatโs what the doctors said. Hereโs how that panned out: The day after the initial surgery, there was internal bleeding, and they had to perform a second surgery on his already-spent body. During the second intubation, the surgeon severed Brennenโs vagus nerve, leaving his vocal cord paralyzed.
Worse: He wasnโt learning to breathe, learning how to re-breathe. His brain wasnโt connecting to his new lungs to tell them what to do. He was breathing the opposite way he was supposed to. His brain was abandoning his body.
โHis brain didnโt catch on to the fact that he had new lungs so he could now breathe normally. Brennen always took short fast breaths: that was his normal. When he got his new lungs, he was still taking short, fast breaths. He was not breathing deep enough to expel the carbon dioxide,โ says Mike. โAlso, his diaphragm muscles were weak, as they had not been used in the past for Brennenโs short, fast breaths, so he had to train them to assist in his deep breathing.โ
For several weeks, it was touch and go โ in and out of ICU.
โOh, it was just horrible,โ says Ann. Brennenโs veins in his arms eventually gave out from all the sticking and poking they were doing to test his blood levels. Thatโs when they moved to his groin. โIt was just downright pure suffering for Brennen.โ
Just relearning how to breathe took well over a month. But then there were the five weeks he went without solid food because his paralyzed vocal cord wouldnโt let him swallow. He was just so hungry. โWhatโd you eat for lunch today? Whatโd you eat today?โ He was always asking, trying to taste through others.
โOh, we didnโt have a chance to eat today,โ his family would say.
He knew they were lying.
โYou could tell he was just so demoralized by this whole thing, just emotionally drained,โ says Mike. โWatching that was just crushing. We had to get him out of there. He wasnโt getting better. Brennen had reached the point that he had been in the hospital too long and mentally he just couldnโt …โ
But he did. Brennen did.
BRENNEN STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE HOSPITAL HALLWAY.
โBrennen, whatโs the matter?โ Ann asked.
He looked at her, panicked. โIโm not breathing.โ
โNo, you are breathing.โ
โNo, Iโm not.โ
โYeah, Brennen. These are your new lungs. Thatโs how youโre breathing!โ Ann cried.
โNo, really, Iโm not,โ he said, clearly freaking out.
โLetโs keep walking,โ she said, tears streaming down her face.
โYouโre breathing, Brennen!โ
It may not have been in the grand, sweeping gesture his family had wanted, but, in true Brennen form, the victories came in small, subtle moments.
Like when Ann taught him that he could breathe and talk at the same time: You can do that? People do that?! It kind of blew his mind.
Or when Michael taught him that he could lie all the way back โ flat โ and still breathe.
Or when he turned around from the hospital mirror and said, โMom, what do you notice?โ
You need to brush your teeth? Ann mused. โI donโt know, Brennen, what?โ
โLook how pink my cheeks are!โ
For the first time in his life, he was getting the oxygen he needed. He was looking alive.
โGOD, YOU LOOK HORRIBLE!โ It was Ianโs first visit to the hospital. Brennen was skinny, maybe around 80 pounds, and he was hooked up to so many IVs, he looked like a walking machine.
โThe kid canโt go anywhere without five nurses trailing behind him, and the first thing he says to me is that I look bad?โ Ian shakes his head. โIt was still Brennen!โ
It was still Brennen. Sure, there were someone elseโs lungs inside him, but everything else was the same. He came out the same kid who went in. Except now he can ride a bike. Go kayaking. Go up stairs. Breathe.
โNow he can laugh,โ says Ann, โwhich is nice to see because Brennen loves to laugh. And laugh often. And make other people laugh.โ
Laughter. Humor. Brennen wouldnโt have gotten far without it. He knows that. His family knows that. His friends know that. Itโs his voice. Itโs something he can share with others. Maybe make him feel a little less alone.
When he returned to the College in the fall of 2011, Brennen reached out to classmate Young Stowe โ14. It turns out, they were living right across Bull Street from one another.
โCome over,โ Brennen said. And, from then on out, Young never really left.
โHis house was hilarious,โ says Young. โIt was kind of like a carriage house, but it was a weird, dinky stupid little house. I just thought it was funny, because it was Brennen in house form: small and funny and weird.โ
They spent a lot of time in there. Watching TV. Laughing. Accidentally napping.
โIt was a weird time for us,โ says Young. โWe both needed someone else in our lives. He was the healthiest heโd been in a really long time, but he was also fragile from the surgery. There were a couple of times when he was just too sick to do anything. Recovering from a lung transplant is really hardcore, and it doesnโt really end โ thereโs constant upkeep, so a lot of our memories are just random Tuesday nights at the hospital. Iโve been in the hospital with this kid I donโt know how many times.โ
โIโve got to go to the hospital,โ Brennen would say.
โIโve got to go home,โ Young would reply.
โTake me to the damn hospital!โ
โFine. Can we be in the same room as last time?โ
Thatโs how they work. Brennen always seems to find the friend who willingly doubles as a protective caregiver. Maybe he just finds what he needs. Maybe his needs elicit that kind of role in people. Either way, spring break at Duke University Hospital for Brennenโs maintenance? It just seemed like the natural thing to do. Nothing was off limits, nothing too absurd.
โWe have this shared sense of humor. To us, the conversation is a riff on the same joke over and over: about how dumb and useless he is,โ laughs Young, who โ like most of Brennenโs college friends โ is living in New York City. โThe thing I worry about with Brennen isnโt his health or his career, but how heโs going to do without all of us around. His friends are really important to him, and I hope he doesnโt feel left behind. Weโre a tight group, and heโs a central part of that.
โItโs hard for Brennen, because heโs tied down by the medical thing,โ continues Young. โThatโs the nightmarish thing about all of this โ he canโt get away from it.โ
Friends, Brennen has learned, do leave. Heโs watched them go his whole life. The friends he made during his tuneups, the girl he kissed at camp, the friends he made at the hospital in Atlanta, and the ones at Duke. Gone.
They all leave him here alone with his disease. But the disease is always right there with him. He canโt ignore it. He canโt leave it out. It remains.
ALL HIS LIFE, CYSTIC FIBROSIS HAS TIED BRENNEN DOWN. It straps him up, squeezes him, has him on lockdown. But why? Why not use it to propel him? Why not use it to take him somewhere?
โWhy not?โ David Lee Nelson โ00 implored Brennen after class. Brennen, then a senior double major in theatre and philosophy, was taking Davidโs solo performance theatre class. It seemed too compelling of a story not to tell.
And so, for the first time, Brennen faced his story: all the god-awful injustices, all the absurdities, all the fears. All the stuff heโd deflated with humor his entire life. He coughed all that crap up. And once he started, Brennen couldnโt stop. He just kept hacking away. He needed to keep going. He needed this.
โI want to take this further,โ he told David when heโd presented his 10-minute project at the end of the semester. โI want to make it into a show.โ
David sent Brennen away to write. To be by himself. To work on it alone.
โBeing alone is a great way to slip into a creative shell,โ notes Brennen.
When he returned, his story scrawled out for David to review, the two worked Brennenโs story into what ultimately became Breathe. A True Story, which premiered at Theater 99 in November 2014. It was his gift.
The show came completely out of the blue for the Reeves family, who received a mass email inviting them along with some 40 other people to the premier. It was the first theyโd heard that he was writing a play. And, when they heard it was a solo show, they werenโt sure what to think.
So, heโs going to be on stage dancing by himself?
โIn my head, I had it pictured, like, heโs up there in a skirt and dancing around and singing and stuff,โ says Michael. โI had no idea what I was walking into. No idea what I was in for.โ
Ann and Mike had asked a few questions, knew the gist of the show โ and, quite frankly, were a little surprised, Brennen typically being so quick to deflect attention away from himself. Still they were proud.
โI was amazed that he was able to tell his story in front of an audience,โโ Ann says.
โBecause he does have a story to tell. So I was proud sitting there watching it. But it was tough.โ
For the first time ever, Brennen had the voice, the breath, to tell the truth โ the parts that are hard to hear. His support crew โ his family, Ian, Young: Theyโd never heard this stuff. Theyโd been kept in the dark. Theyโd never heard him say he was scared.
โBrennen doesnโt say that kind of stuff โ he just glosses over those things,โ says Ian, โso to hear those things really had an impact on me.โ
โWell, yeah, I was scared! But itโd just be so weird if I were just, like, riding in the car and was like, โYeah, damn! Iโm scared to die!โโ shrugs Brennen. โI just felt like, I need to grow up and deal with things some myself.โ
And he did. He dealt with a lot by himself. But he knew audiences wouldnโt buy his story if he left out the emotions, the fears. It wouldnโt be real without those things.
What was he thinking? They were going to want to know. How did it make him feel?
He tells his audience all that stuff. He tells them, โDeath is the only thing that really scares me.โ
But thatโs just not true. There are other things. His biggest fear in life is being left alone.
โI would rather have lived my life over 100 times than grow up without a mom, dad, brother or best friends,โ he says. โHands down. Hands down. Hands down.โ
Heโd seen people sitting alone in hospitals. Heโd seen families dissipate. Heโd seen things fall apart. He couldnโt imagine.
โSo, yeah, I was scared of my parents maybe getting a divorce during that time. I feared a lot of things. I feared my brother getting in trouble. My brother dying. Things like that. And Iโm scared to die. Yeah, Iโm a person! Iโm a human! I feel these things.โ
Now that itโs out there, though, itโs a relief. Heโs happy. And heโs grateful, especially for David, who encouraged him in the first place to tell this story. And who has become more than a teacher or a coach โ heโs risen to the ranks of Ian and Young: Heโs a friend.
โI think thatโs a really cool, neat relationship,โ says Mike. โI think theyโve grown together, and that they feed off of each other a little bit, too.โ
โItโs so funny: I thought I came back to Charleston to play Hamlet a couple years ago, but now I really think that, without even knowing it, I came back to help create this show,โ says David. โItโs some of the most gripping theater Iโve been a part of creating.โ
Since opening, the show was featured in last springโs Piccolo Spoleto Festival, is the keynote at the South Carolina Theater Association Conference this fall and is headed to the University of Florida in January. But it doesnโt stop there. Brennen and David have big plans.
โI think it could absolutely be a book, I think it could be a 10-person play, I think it could be a musical, I think it could be a movie, a TV series,โ says David. โI think it could be literally whatever Brennen wants it to be. Iโm just excited about being part of the process.โ
Itโs given David something unexpected, too: a sense of value, which is translating into โa really exciting stretch of creativity. โฆ I think a lot of it is because, for the first time in my life, I feel like I know what Iโm doing a little bit. And the only reason for that is because this tiny, hysterical guy came along and was like, โWill you help me do this?โ and I was like, โI guess.โโ
Together, theyโre finding their voices โ breathing it all in. Breathing their art to life.
BRENNEN REEVES IS FULL OF CLICHรS. But the kind that are rare: the genuine kind.
โBrennen lives his life in the way you do when you think you might not have a whole lot of life left. I know that sounds clichรฉ, but when you see it, itโs just who he is. Thatโs just how his brain is wired. I think thatโs unbelievably admirable,โ says Young. โLive in the moment. Life is short. Live in the now. Live your life and spend time with your friends and family: Nothing else matters. It sounds clichรฉ, but Brennen lives it so vibrantly, that itโs not clichรฉ at all.โ
โHe just has so much tenacity: He just puts his head down and gets it done. His engine is unmatched. Heโs as hard a worker and determined person as any on the planet,โ says Ian. โIt sounds clichรฉ, but when you see it in person, itโs a special thing. This kid is genuine from the top of his head to his toes.โ
And heโs starting to have a genuine appreciation of the power of his story, too.
โWhat I find great about Brennenโs perspective is just the self-awareness of it. Heโs like, โYeah, Iโve got this thing, and I take it seriously, but I canโt take it too seriously,โโ says David. โBut even though he has this great perspective, at some level, heโs just a dude. Heโs just a dude. He has all the problems a kid his age has: โUgh, I want to meet a girl,โ โUgh, my team lost.โ Heโs got this beautiful mixture of cynicism and optimism that I just find so funny.โ
โI feel like Brennen is always teaching somebody something, whether heโs coming out as trying to teach them or not. Thereโs meaning to everything he says,โ says Michael. “I hope that Brennen feels as successful as I feel that he already is. I just want him to feel the same way about himself that I feel about him. I feel heโs already as perfect as you can be.โ
โMOM! See if you can hit this with the club!โ Brennen calls out, pitching a golf ball to Ann. She hits the ball across the shaded backyard lawn, and Brennen โ his blond hair catching the late afternoon sunlight โ runs after it, laughing as he dives onto the ground to catch it.
โCan you believe I did that?โ he calls back to his incredulous mother, who, no, cannot believe her little boy โ the same one whoโd ruptured a feeding tube when heโd tried it all those years ago at Crossings Park โ did that. Heโd always wanted to dive for a ball.
โYou canโt be scared. If youโre always scared of whatโs out there, why would you even get out of bed? And then whatโs the point? Donโt forget the big picture. You have to look at quality of life and just live,โ says Brennen. โJust because I have to think about exhaling and inhaling isnโt an excuse for checking out. Every breath could be my last. Thatโs the reality. Iโm not going to live forever. Iโm just going to enjoy this while I can.โ
Brennen canโt escape his disease. It goes wherever he goes. Itโs in his pancreas, in his sinuses, in his digestive tract. And โ even though his lungs are healthy โ his body doesnโt know that. His body is still on the attack.
The risk of rejection never goes away. He can never really breathe easy.
And then there are the drugs โ all that medicine heโs been taking since he was eight weeks old, the pounding that his kidneys and his liver have taken over the years: At some point, all those meds are going to catch up.
โThe bottom line is, though, if Brennen did not have the lung transplant, he would not be alive today. He wouldnโt be with us,โ says Ann. โWe donโt know what tomorrowโs going to bring. Weโre just grateful that weโve had these four years with him, and we pray for many more.โ
ITโS A STRANGE THING: KNOWING YOUโRE BODY COULD FLAKE OUT ON YOU AT ANY MINUTE. Itโs a lot to take in. But how you process that โ what voice you give it โ thatโs what matters.
โI know this is all going to end at some point, but right now, Iโm happy. Iโm living the dream, so come on! Come with me! Be my friend. You know, thatโs what Iโm about,โ says Brennen. โIโve had all this crap happen to me, but look at me! Iโm fine! Iโm laughing! Iโm beautiful! This is beautiful! Everything is great! I laugh, I have fun. Enjoy it for what it is. Enjoy life. Smile. Hug, kiss, be a part of each other.
โBe here, with me, in the moment,โ he continues. โEveryone has their โdouble lung transplantโ in life. But you have to pick up and go. Be a part of this beautiful life. But, mostly, look at me and know Iโm OK.
โI want to teach people that everything is all right โ youโre going to be OK,โ he says. โIโm here now, and when I die, itโs going to be OK. Itโs all going to be OK. Lifeโs going to be OK.โ
You just have to learn how to breathe. Just breathe.