Brittany Maynard accomplished more in one year than most do in one lifetime. She wasn’t a celebrity. She wasn’t an innovator. She was a schoolteacher who faced an unrelenting brain tumor. She jumped through Olympic-like hurdles to battle it, and she wanted to make life easier for others in her situation. Now, within a year of her death, and with the steadfast dedication and efforts of her husband, his family, her mother and others, California governor Jerry Brown signed the End of Life Option Act into California legislation. The passing of this legislation is a huge success for those who suffer from terminal illnesses, but the win is painstakingly bittersweet, since the person with whom I once shared memories with is gone.
Though Brittany and I went to the same high school, those years with her are much cloudier than the crystal-clear images that easily emerge from our time in middle school. She was spunky, intelligent and stubborn. She was my seventh-grade lab partner (her mom was our chemistry teacher), and we were assigned to two-person desks in the back of the classroom. Typical of any preteen who would have been placed in her mother’s classroom, Brittany enjoyed being defiant. I had to hold back laughter when she vocally disagreed with her mom. “Deborah!!!” she would shout loudly, as she (brazenly) interrupted her mother’s lesson plan, with her hands on her hips and her head tilted to the side in an entitled face-off.
In another incident, I remember her mother asking us to go down to her car and retrieve something that she needed for a class. The potential ramifications of sending two unchaperoned seventh-grade students down to the parking lot with keys to a little red sports car was something that Mrs. Favela (her last name at the time) clearly underestimated. Brittany took full advantage. She opened the door, turned the keys in the ignition, started blasting the local radio station and danced in the parking lot. I remember watching her wide-eyed in awe. I was terrified of getting a blue slip for missing a homework assignment, and here we were on the verge of the biggest, baddest disciplinary action if any teacher were to catch us. But Brittany couldn’t be bothered—she was having the time of her life. Even at that age, she understood that despite the consequences looming in front of her, her moment of freedom—a form of innocent rebellion—was a memory worth the risk of a silly admonishment.
One of the things that I can’t help remembering about Brittany throughout our time at St. John’s School was her frustration whenever a stranger mispronounced her name as “May-nerd.” (Ironically, most of the news anchors have done so to date, and I can imagine our alumni cringing every time we hear it and recalling this specific Brittany-ism). “It’s MA-NARD. It’s French!” she would exclaim and then sigh with exasperation.
During our eighth-grade trip to Washington, DC, Brittany was one of four of my roommates for the week. Though I have faint memories of giggling and staying up too late and playing pranks on the boys, I wish I could scrape the ice off the window to my past and revisit the memories of that time. What did we laugh about? Who had a crush on whom? Unfortunately, you never know which memories you want to hold onto until you realize that a certain image is one of the last recollections you’ll have of someone special.
When I found out in April 2014 that Brittany was diagnosed with a stage-4 terminal brain cancer known as a glioblastoma, I, like most of my classmates from middle and high school, was stunned. It seems like it is now heartbreakingly commonplace to hear about people you know—whether they’re family, a friend or someone you went to school with—having been hit with cancer. And it’s even worse to hear that that person has only six months to live. Though Brittany and I had not been close after high school, college or grad school, through the magic of Facebook/Instagram/Twitter, I knew what was going on in her life. We “Liked” each other’s wedding pictures, status updates and occasional funny quotes as a way to still stay somewhat connected.
I began avidly following her journey since her first disclosure on Facebook and—15 years since high school—found myself getting to know Brittany all over again. Not only was she still the vocal, passionate, adventurous spirit that I remembered her to be, but also she exemplified a depth of character in a way so few can. As she began documenting her sickness and experienced herself growing weaker, she became the model for carpe diem. She continued to travel. She hiked at Yellowstone. She saw glaciers in Alaska. She fulfilled her final wish of visiting the Grand Canyon. All the while, she also began a personal campaign to educate herself and create awareness for an agenda that has been largely absent in mainstream politics and national debates. Her commitment to raising awareness about legislation governing dying with dignity is truly noteworthy and a testament to what an amazing spirit she was. In the end, Brittany had to leave California to end her suffering in a dignified way. It was the absurdity of California’s legal restrictions that set her on a crusade, beginning with a local interview and then communal video clips. From there, she sparked open conversations, lobbying and a change to state law. Her ability to spark questions around this topic, to effect change from a grassroots level, evoked in me a strong sense of admiration for my old friend.
Though the inherent utility and benefit of social media is that it serves as an open forum, I was first shocked, then horrified, then disgusted by the number of negative comments posted in response to Brittany’s endeavors. There will always be left and right, liberal and conservative, free thinkers and religious believers. However, at the very minimum, we are human beings. And as human beings, first and foremost, we should feel. We should empathize. We should have a fundamental duty to respect one another for our choices and our actions, even when we don’t agree with them. Brittany was competent to know what she wanted and brave enough to follow through with it. Her decision to forgo pain and suffering is one that only someone in her position can make. Brittany’s research on the subject matter, her arduous move to Oregon—one of now five states that supports dying with dignity—and her bold commitment to helping others obtain this right embody the sacrifice that she went through in her final days to ensure others can make the same choice for themselves.
In addition to Brittany’s fight to make this issue known, her journey fiercely reunited our middle and high school communities for the first time since our caps went flying. Despite the religious implications and beliefs of the institutions we hailed from, everyone rallied together and created a network of unconditional love and support for Brittany’s strength and bravery. She personally thanked friends and family who sent her gifts of love and letters of encouragement. She withstood criticism, weathered counterarguments and confidently stood her ground. She left a lasting legacy for people to live life to the fullest and embrace every day as if it’s their last. Cheers to you, Brittany, with your kind and resilient soul—I’m sure the music you’re dancing to up there in heaven is extra loud.