For the last two and a half weeks I’ve been co-leading a writing/meditation retreat in Kathmandu, Nepal. Two days into our trip, and 7,600 miles away, my friend and my assistant, Bree Smith was having what I can only imagine was a very dark day.
That morning she’d assisted us in a live online Wild Writing class for 80 people. I wasn’t there, but people who were emailed me to let me know how bright and kind Bree was on that call — which was pretty much what Bree was like everyday; teenage sunshine in a bottle, an energetic young woman with a heart to serve, a woman who bounded into every situation like a puppy, happy, expectant and alive.
By the end of the day, at 33 years old, she had taken her own life.
Whatever happened between Monday morning and Monday afternoon will forever be a mystery.
A few days before she’d hosted a book signing for a good friend. Friends flew in from out of town and she was surrounded by people who she loved. After our class, she drove a friend to the airport, and whatever was brewing inside of her got very real fast and she didn’t make it home.
One friend said that she didn’t think it was premeditated, but was more of a sudden moment, not planned or built over time, but more like a weather system that moves in fast. The pain feels absolute and her ability to see past the moment collapsed.
I never saw a hint of that weather system. What I saw was the Bree who was a cheerleader for people’s work. The Bree who hosted writing classes and poetry salons, and who created spaces where people could show up and write true things. That’s what she loved, that’s how she lived, that’s why she was such a good fit for our Wild Writing community.
And she worked hard for it. She’d been brought up in a tight Mormon home, but by the time I met her five years ago, she’d shaken all that off, had left an early marriage, let her long blond hair grow into dreadlocks that reached past her ass, was covered in tattoos and had established a deep and loving relationship with a woman. Bree fought for it. She was determined to live a true life.
I’ll never forget the day last year when she stopped by on her way home to Salt Lake City. She’d been roadtripping in Babs, her tricked out trailer, and she went out of her way to come by. I remember the way she bounded into my house, barefoot, wearing a short, tight dress, her curvy body spilling out from it. I remember how gorgeous she was, how she seemed to occupy that body with a zest that made me hungry to occupy my own like that — no apology — as though she green-lighted her own hungers, not just on the plate but in life.
It’s no small thing to live in this world. It’s a lot. I think of my kids, who are Bree’s age, and how much pressure they feel to figure things out, to know what they’re supposed to do, to become something. And for all of us, I think you need to be fairly high functioning to be able tolerate the energetic assault of the everyday— the noise, the worries, the traffic, the pressures we put on ourselves; who we are when we’re alone versus how we feel when we’re with others.
I don’t know what kind of pressure Bree felt, and what led her to silence the noise, and I’m sorry for that. Sorry for how hard that day must have been for her, this bright light, this teenage sunshine in a bottle. She had a lot of good things in her life. Her partner of four years, who she loved, work she loved – with me and with the poet Rosemary Wahtola Trommer, a house she’d just moved into, a dog she was crazy about…
Maybe that’s the hardest part of being human — you can be surrounded by love, doing the work you were born to do, and still a sudden wind can blow through and whisper, not today.
I keep thinking about something a woman named Rosemary said to me last year in front of a large group of people. “I wish you could see yourself the way we see you,” she said to me, and it silenced me. What I think she was saying was something like, you are wonderful and I wish you saw that too. Her words changed me. They helped to silence the voices that told me otherwise, that had me keep trying to earn my place in the world. I never forgot.
I also remember this. When Bree left my house after her visit, she was literally running down my brick path to Babs, and she turned around and shouted, “You know you’re magic, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I shouted back.
“Good!” she said, and kept running.
That’s what I want to say to her now.
Bree, you’re magic, baby, you always were, and I’m sorry that got lost for even one moment.
And if you’re reading this, and you’ve forgotten too — even for just a moment — let me say it to you now: You’re magic, baby. You always were.
I’m holding a candle for Bree tonight.
And maybe for you, too — for anyone standing at the edge of their own light, wondering if it’s still there.
Breeanna Kjerstin Smith
June 14 1992 – November 10, 2025
This is such a lovely tribute to Bree, Laurie, and one that should give us all pause, to breathe, and remember we are all magic.
Love and light to you.
Bree..You were there for everyone else. You help me, lost in my essential need for others’ approval, to reclaim a place for myself. Rest in Peace. Love your spirit!
This is exquisite in its love, sparkling homage, bewilderment, and grief. It touches on all the unfixable and unexplainable loss in my own heart. Thank you for doing the hard work of putting this on the page and then sharing, sending you much much love.
❤️🩹
So heartbreaking, thank you for sharing. We rarely know how magic we are.
Oh, Laurie, I’m so sorry to hear about your friend, Bree, and the pain of loss you’re feeling. I didn’t know her, but your breathtaking words and tribute reveal her sunshine and magic. I am truly sorry for her pain and what that moment must have been like.
Oh my tears are flowing, Laurie. What a loss and what an offering you are making to all of us.
So sorry for your loss Laurie, such a hard thing to hold. Sending love and peace to Bree and her community.
Thank you for this Laurie. It helps to try to understand what happened and also beautifully captures who Bree was as a human navigating this crazy world. Thank you for sharing your magic. Love you.
Wow. Heartbreaking and beautiful
And an important message
Love you,
Xxxooo
Steph
Laurie, you write—as you so often do—straight into the heart of beauty and sadness and joy and grief and spirit and electricity and magic and awe and the complex vortex of experience that being a human being looks and feels and tastes like. This feels like the most important, vital, and life-giving work a person can do. I am grateful, as ever, for your witnessing and wondering. We need it. I need it.
Laurie, what a beautiful and heartbreaking piece. Thank you for writing it and for honoring Bree and the magic of her. May we hold onto and carry that magic forward.
Laurie thank you for sharing Bree’s magic with all of us so that even in the rearview mirror we can feel her spark and share it with someone else who needs it, too.
Rest in peace, beautiful Bree.
Dearest Laurie, my heart breaks for your and for all who loved and knew Bree. I did not know her but I thank you for opening a window in to the world that was Bree and all of the sunshine and magic that filled the space she inhabited. Thank you for sharing your magic and reminding us all that we too, are magic incarnate. Sending you love.
Such a beautiful tribute to Bree. Thank you so much for sharing this with us. It touched me deeply.
Laurie, this is such a beautiful tribute. I feel your pain and the love you have for Bree. Thank you for these words. It’s a good reminder. There are a few people I need to tell who are magic, and I haven’t said it enough.
Laurie♥️I am sobbing in a Wegmans parking lot reading your tender, cut to the heart tribute. Your gift with words brought Bree’s effervescent light beaming from the page. For a moment, I could feel her puppy dog enthusiasm, her sass & spark; the epic way she gassed you up; had this knack for making you feel seen & special & oh so loved. If life is about breaking open for love, bravely risking your heart, giving your all for what you’re passionate about, believe in; championing others when they need it most- this was the Bree I was blessed to know and Love for far too short a time. Thank you for bringing her alive on the page. She led me to you & your amazing circle of writers, (In fact, I remember the day she told me she was getting to meet you! She was so excited! And a little nervous. She probably said she was gonna pee her pants! Because that’s what she often said when she was really excited & didn’t she always just speak her heart?) ♥️
Beautiful words for a woman whose light left this world too soon. I’m sorry for the sadness you must feel and though I never met her, reading your story triggered a wave of grief. May her light shine brightly wherever she is now and may we always remember the magic that we are.
Thank you, Laurie. What a beautiful and moving reflection — not just of Bree, but for all of us navigating the so-called “human condition.” As you know, my brother was the same age when he took his life. I feel so deeply for all of Bree’s friends and family, for everyone that once bathed in her light.
On Thanksgiving morning, I would like to say, “I wish you could see yourself the way we see you.” Such an important message. And might I add, “I am thankful for all of you.”
What a loving tribute to Bree.
I am so sorry.
Hello Dear Laurie- Wow, what a beautiful tribute. You brought me to tears and I’ve been thinking about this beautiful woman since you shared the news of her unexpected passing. What a tragic loss of a truly beautiful soul. I keep thinking: Maybe her spirit got so big she just couldn’t inhabit her body any longer, or be held in this heavy world anymore? My heart goes out to you and Bree’s family, friends and community during this time of great heartache and loss. Sending love and comfort your way.
May you be free, Dear Bree. May you be free. ♥️🙏🏼💫
I never met Bree, but I just had to learn more about her from the moment we, the wild writing community, learned of her passing (on my birthday). I just put her name into Facebook and started listening to her videos. Wow! What a smart, emotionally intelligent, and vivacious ray of light! Then I started reading all these comments, and so much pain and heart. Yesterday I crossed the street trying to get to the second page of your heartfelt piece and couldn’t, and now it feels like a full-circle moment of learning and knowing and trying to feel and understand. Thank you so much for giving voice to this gentlest of poetic souls. May her memory be for a blessing.
I didn’t know Bree but your words brought her to life for me. I’m crying for the pain she must’ve felt that day. Thank you for the reminder that we are enough and that life is precious, even in the moments where we cannot see the light. 💕 i’m so sorry for your immense loss.
Wow, heartbreaking and beautiful. Sending my love.
may i be sunshine in a bottle. may you be magic and life spilling out from all of your edges.
may bree know that she gave us those gifts. may she watch over us as we crone our way to freedom. blessed be dear bree. your light lives on in us. thank you laurie for always working to find the words that truly matter. xo
Laurie, as always a beautiful, heartfelt writing and a tribute to the joy Bree lived. Thank you for sharing the good.
Thanks for the Magic.