Lyndsay

I don’t need to stand here and tell you how special Emily Bright was. You already know or you would not be here today. Instead, I would like to share with you what her life meant to mine in hopes that my thoughts will spark you to think about what she has meant to all of you.

When Skip died, one of his friends, David Womack, stood up here and gave witness much like I am doing today. He told a story about moving to Greenville and having no friends or family in the area and feeling extremely lonely until he met Skip. I don’t remember exactly how the story went, but I remember that Skip reached out to him and showed him around town and introduced him to people and places. I remember sitting in this sanctuary and thinking to myself, “Wow, I could be telling this same story about Emily and me.” I moved to the Triangle from Greenville five years ago, and I had no family or friends in the area. Emily reached out to me the same way Skip reached out to David even though she had met me only briefly at Mike and Kerri’s.

It is not often that a person can reflect on his or her life and pinpoint exactly what event had such an impact on that life that its entire course was dramatically changed forever. That event for me was meeting Emily Bright.

There are so few things in my life that Emily doesn’t permeate completely. I cannot listen to an R.E.M. song without thinking of her unnatural obsession with Michael Stipe; I cannot reread my favorite David Sedaris book without remembering that Emily gave it to me; I cannot watch an episode of Sex and the City without remembering how completely Em loved that show; I cannot go to many of my favorite restaurants in the Triangle without remembering that Emily introduced me to them; I cannot even look at my own husband without remembering who introduced us. The ring that Fawaz gave to me when he proposed marriage even bears Emily’s influence. The two of them snuck around for months behind my back picking out just the right one. I know some of the greatest people because I knew her. I am forever indebted to Emily for all of it.

My life changed the day Emily called me and said, “Hey, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I have this work thing to go to tonight; do you want to go with me? I promise we’ll get a drink or two afterwards.” Had she not called or had I shied away, I don’t know what my life would be like, and I don’t care to know. I am eternally grateful that Emily inherited her dad’s ability to turn a complete stranger into a lifelong friend with one small, simple gesture. I think David would agree with me in saying that that gesture, however, was neither small nor simple. David, it seems you and I have much to be grateful for.

I will mourn Emily’s passing because I don’t know how not to, but so much more than that, I will celebrate her life for all that her life meant to me and all that her life has meant to so many others. I encourage all of you to celebrate her with me, for I know no other more beautiful or more deserving than our Em.

Molly, Lucy, and Bryan

Molly

We stand here today feeling like the three luckiest people in the world because we had the honor of calling Emily our best friend. When we got together to talk about what we would say today we struggled because Emily was the one in our group who was the most gifted writer….and we also knew she would want editorial control. As many of you can imagine it was challenging to come up with our favorite stories that were also suitable for church.

Anyone who spent five minutes with Emily wanted to be her friend. I met Emily on the second day of 2nd grade in Ms. Tillman's class. I was a shy, scared 6-year-old hiding behind my mother's skirt. Emily recognized the "new girl" and her hand shot up and she asked Ms. Tillman if I could sit next to her. In no time she had acquainted me to the classroom, play ground and lunchroom. She continued to nurture me through college, med school and residency, laughing all the way. Emily's sense of humor was legendary, even in the hardest situations. On a recent visit Emily had lost a lot of weight because the cancer prevented her from eating. I told her how sorry I was that she couldn't enjoy food anymore and she said, "Well, I think anorexics are really onto something."

Lucy

Molly just said a few words about Emily's nurturing quality. I also wanted to speak to one of the traits in Emily that we so loved and admired - her vitality. Some people would call it a "zest for life". She appreciated and treasured her time on this Earth in a way that was truly inspirational to all who knew her. If there was a party to attend or a trip to take, Emily was going to go no matter what. In fact, she'd go out and have a great time despite feeling a degree of pain that would cause most people to stay home. I've known people who lived much less in 92 years than Emily did in 32 years.

In thinking about what to say today, one conversation we'd had over about 2 years ago kept coming to my mind. She was telling me about a birthday party - I believe it was actually Lyndsay's birthday - she'd attended at a skating rink. She was describing how the way people skated revealed a lot about their personalities. The public dancing and skating were basically metaphors. For example, the shy, timid people skated with hesitancy and clung to the wall. Some of the more dominant personalities were performing stylized dance routines to the music in the middle of the floor. And then some people didn't even step out onto the rink at all. At the end of the story I asked Emily how she skated and danced at the party and she said, "I danced like I always do - like there was no one else in the room."

Emily was so present in every moment - she never stopped living fully in the face of all of the limitations her illness could have bestowed.

Bryan

A pediatrician whose theories I have come to greatly appreciate once said that "there was no such thing as a baby," meaning that without a mother an infant cannot exist. My life is pretty much all about childhood development these days, and what I have come to discover is that all of us need that special someone in whom we find ourselves. Each of us needs to be truly seen, warts and all, by a caring other. And wasn't this who Emily was to so many of us? Emily knew people. And when I say knew, I mean that in practically no time at all she had your number. For me, she was the one who saw all of me, even the parts that I wanted to hide. She was the one who gently pushed me to be exactly who I was, without apology. I say with some pride that the Emily and Pridge show was running long before anyone heard anything about Will and Grace. And, I might add, we were funnier. I remember going together to New York City and flying from Raleigh in one of those small commuter jets. I will never forget watching as Emily, sporting her enormous black sunglasses, climbed the stairs from the tarmac, and when she reached the top, turned to wave at everyone standing below, just like Jackie Kennedy. I thought to myself in that moment that she was the most fabulous woman that I had ever met in my life. She was my friend and soulmate, and in her eyes, her laugh, and her love I became me. I could not 
have done it without her.

And yet now life has called upon all of us to go on without her. On a day like today we all feel the gravity of this enormous loss, because she was so essential to our lives. After all, how do we live without oxygen, which is really what she was to us. Yet, Molly, Lucy, and I know that there was a timelessness to Emily. Her life was too short, we didn't get enough of her, but we know that her vitality, her wit, her compassion, her resiliency, and her wisdom will live on in each of us as we strive to find Emily in all that we do. Never forget that she has left her fingerprint on every heart in this room so that when you leave today, you will carry her there, like a song.

Mike

I will do my best to speak on behalf of Kerri and Judy.

It seems Emily was born supporting her family, seeing to their contentment. In elementary school, she was asked to write about her hero. On her paper, she wrote, "The person I admire most is my mother." And you can imagine it made Judy feel good, just as it did when, in a graduation card to her parents, Emily wrote, "Thanks for the roots. Thanks for the wings." Or when she thanked her mother for taking the time to stay at home to raise Emily and Kerri. Judy remembers these moments fondly because Emily was able to do what so few of us as sons and daughters take time to do — support our parents just as they support us, make them feel special, appreciated, admired.

Emily's commitment to family inspired her to run her first half marathon—the race for the cure—in honor of her mother, who had recently faced cancer herself. Rather than dwelling on her own effort to overcome ovarian cancer, Emily chose to recognize her mother’s fight. She made her a t-shirt that read, "My Mom, My Hero," ran the thirteen mile race with her friend Amber, and inspired her family with her hard-earned achievement.

This was Emily's approach to life—never to dwell on her own pain, her own challenge, her own struggle. Even in the last two weeks before Emily passed away, as she lay in bed, her illness growing but her spirit unwavering, she was still struggling for her family's comfort. She was still worrying about leaving Judy and Kerri and Elliott, not because she felt bad for herself, but because she wanted to make sure they could be happy. Even as she considered a place in heaven, she wondered if she might still be able to support those people she loved the most—to look down on them, comfort them and protect them.

Perhaps Emily imagines that she owes Kerri that protection. It was Kerri who threatened to beat up any older kid who bullied Emily when they were young. But Emily has always been Kerri's greatest supporter. She celebrated Kerri's graduation by taking Kerri to New York City. She threw Kerri a baby shower when Kerri was pregnant and a wedding shower when Kerri and I were engaged. So Emily was indeed Kerri's greatest supporter, especially when supporting meant celebrating.

One of Kerri's favorite memories of her time with Emily was the trip they took to California. Her favorite part of that trip was not the Haight/Ashbury record shops, the funny poses knee-deep in public fountains, or the Chinese Drag Queen Karaoke restaurant (and you know Kerri and Emily love their queens). It was simply sitting beside the pool talking. It doesn't matter what they talked about. A conversation between sisters is important merely because it is between sisters.

The thought of these conversations ending is a sad one.

Several days before Emily passed away, Kerri said to me, "I can't imagine life without Emily." I’m not sure any of us can.

But I don’t think we will ever be without Emily.

She is in the way we raise a glass of red wine in toasts to good times – or sometimes raise bottles of red wine over our heads as we exit restaurants. She is in the way we press our fingers and thumbs together in the shape of a heart to tell new friends how we feel about them – and in the way we seek life-long friendships in single meetings. In the way we walk into a new job, scout the personnel, and pick out the smartest, the funniest, the most fun people and say, "They are going to be my friends." And in the way we laugh at those friends when they hang our favorite cross-dressed stuffed kitties in closets. She is in the delight we take at gathering with friends for our favorite foods – for grilled steaks, for crab flautas, for sushi, for tapas, for wine – and in our questionable karaoke performances. She is in our living room sofas and backyard swings. She is in the monkey décor of our cubicles. In the way we struggle against impossible odds over and over and over. The way we rely on ourselves. And the way we support each other. Emily is in a baby’s laughter, the way it covers misery with joy. And she is in the way we discover better versions of ourselves. She is in the impressions worn into our sofas where we watch favorite television shows, in our guest rooms, and in our favorite places. She is in Greenville, Chapel Hill, Raleigh, and Asheville. In Vero Beach and Kansas City, New York and Chicago. She is Boston and Orlando and Miami and D.C.

I don’t want to imagine a life without Emily Bright. But I don’t think we have to.

Kerrireading a letter from Emily

This is not a goodbye letter. It's actually more of a love letter to all the people in my life who have somehow formed together to make me who I am: My friends, coworkers, and my family.

The first thing I want to say is thank you. In a way I feel lucky. Not many people have the chance to sit down and formally thank the people who have touched their lives. A lot of people just get the Mack truck in the rear view ... and that's it. Don't get me wrong. Cancer has not been walk in the park, but it has given me time to spend with my friends and family and time to see things in a new way.

I have gotten to spend some invaluable time with my friends. These are the people who work so hard to support and help me that they think nothing of flying across the country just to sit and laugh at bad tv with me, who think it is fun to sit in the chemo lab with me so I will have someone to talk to while going through another round, who bring my mom dinner without her even being asked, and who make me laugh so hard that I have new pains in my sides. You have made my life more fun than should be allowed. Your humor, love, and devotion has been incredible. Some people, like Mary Holt, would say those are exactly the kinds of friends I deserve. Maybe I do, but I am just not sure everybody actually gets this combination of intellect, comic genius, and pure generosity all in one social package. Wow guys, thanks.

I'd be remiss if I didn't include my co-workers in this list of friends. These are the people I stare at across the cubicle breeze way for 40 plus hours a week year after year. I'm lucky enough to say that most of them are something of a hybrid: part friend, part family, part brilliant entertainer. I am not sure how many times I have wondered how many people laugh as much as I do at work? This thought stopped me from complaining more than one time.

Next, I would like to thank my family. This may seem redundant because they are also included in the group of friends I described earlier. My sister is my best friend, the funniest person I know, and the person who has really been there through every part of my history. I may have only known my brother in law for six years or so, but he is a rock. Mike is someone I didn't have to like but I ended up not only liking but loving. Elliott and I do not know each other as well, but he already possess several of my favorite qualities: he's beautiful, charming, and even though I don't think he really knows what he is laughing at, he seems to be developing a pretty decent sense of humor.

My dad is a huge part of our family. He has been gone for over a year now, but I still sometimes feel like I hear the kiss he use to blow to me while standing in my doorway every morning. Christmas has not been the same without Dad being there to wake us up at 5 a.m. because he can't wait any longer to open his gift. The commitment and love he offered us, his family, was one of the biggest influences on my life, and I miss him very much. Thank you, daddy.

And of course, there is my mom, the woman who worked harder to take care of me than anyone else on this Earth. I don't know how you do it, mom, administering all the stupid medications, helping me in and out of bed, and basically waiting on me hand and foot. You have dedicated every minute of the last several months to looking after me. You gotta take a nap lady! You must be exhausted. Either way, thank you. I know you would move Heaven and Earth for me if you could, and I don't know anyone else who has the heart and the patience to help me as much as you have.

Amazingly, my love doesn't stop there. I've got aunts, uncles, and cousins who seem like they are on-call, ready to be there at a moment's notice. Thank you, and I love you too.

All of these people are not just my friends or just my family; they are me. They create the me I know. I am a neurotically hilarious psychiatrist, a co-worker who hides and hangs my stuffed cat, the gentile Iraqi who can lift me up physically and spiritually, a DC socialite who knows people are just waiting to meet her, everyone's Gummy who loves me like a daughter, and a seemingly shy gynecologist who brings back the fun stories from her day's trials. I am the mother who stays up until 4 a.m. watching me breathe, the girl who sees a need for hats in the chemo lab and starts crocheting more that day, a guy who can't wait to watch Secrets with me for hours over the weekend, and the aunt who brings roses for my bedroom sometimes twice in one week.

Thank you for making me this wonderful person.