Breanna Christine Biehl

My baby sister, Breanna, touched the lives of so many people. I am privileged to have grown up with this beautiful soul. It is my hope that this page will be filled up with sweet memories of her that her family can reflect on for years to come. We love you forever Baby Bre.

This is the talk I gave at her memorial service to honor her life:

We gather with broken hearts and full hearts — because to love someone like Breanna is to feel both, all at once.

There is no easy way to say goodbye to someone so alive, so vibrant, so woven into our lives.

So today, I won’t try to say goodbye. I’ll try to say thank you. And yes. And we remember.

My sister, Breanna Christine Biehl — soon to be Kepler — was one of the most loving, magnetic, and deeply human souls I’ve ever known.

She wasn’t just my baby sister. She was a mirror, a firecracker, a truth-teller, a loyal friend, and a fierce mama.

She was wild and free and absolutely herself. Always.

She came into the world 4 and a half years after me, and from the start she had a spirit that could not — and would not — be contained.

Rachael and I were her older sisters, always trying to shield her from the world.
But Breanna didn’t need protecting. She was born with a lioness inside.

She was the kind of person who would stand on desks in school yelling movie quotes just for the thrill of it.

The kind of person who cracked awkward jokes that only she found funny — and then laughed so hard, you had to join her.

She had her own language for joy.

Breanna met Givanni at just 8 years old, and their relationship — part friendship, part friction, part soul contract — led to four amazing, bright, talented children: Luca, Roman, Milani, and Isabella.

Her babies. Her deepest love and greatest purpose. She told me so many times, “They are the best thing I ever did.”

She would dream out loud about who they’d become — how she hoped they’d feel happy and loved and whole.

She wanted them to be themselves in this world.

She wanted them to know they were cherished by her and by God, no matter what.

Everything she did, every breath she took, was for them.

Later, Breanna met Jared — the love of her life.

Jared, she adored you. You brought her peace, protection, deep love, and partnership.

She told me many times that she felt truly seen by you.

And she couldn’t wait to marry you. I was so honored when you asked me to officiate your wedding.

You’re part of this family forever. Thank you for loving her, and for loving her children.

We see you. We love you.

And to our beautiful mother — I want to speak directly to you.

You walked with Breanna every step of her journey, through every high, every heartbreak, every hospital visit, and every hope.

You were with her in the moment she took her first breath, and you were holding her hand as she took her last.

The love you gave her — the care, the strength, the steadiness — it was sacred.

Thank you. From all of us.

Breanna was a nurturer, a healer, and a silly goose all wrapped into one.

Even in the hospital, even on oxygen, she would be checking on us.
“Did you eat today? Are you okay? How’s Mom holding up?”

That’s who she was. Someone who cared. Someone who mothered everyone around her.

And she’d do it while cracking corny jokes and giggling at her own weird comments.

When she got sick, I told her I’d be her “hope coach” — like the coach from Rocky — I said, “You’re gonna be eating lightning and crapping thunder, babe.”

We laughed so hard. And then we cried. Because we both knew she was fighting.

Not for herself — but for her kids. And in that fight, she found her strength.

One day, she looked at me from her hospital bed, full of wires and tubes, and she said:

“Live big, babe. Blow the lid off your life. Laugh at pain. Dance in the rain. You’re not too much. You are perfect. You are just enough. Go big.”

And I say it now to all of you.

Go big.

If you want to remember Breanna, live. Live with your heart wide open.
Don’t hold back. Don’t shrink. Take the trip. Say the thing. Dance in the middle of the grocery store. Forgive faster. Laugh louder. Cry harder.

Be exactly who you are — and let that be enough.

And most of all: be kind. Be gentle. Breanna didn’t just want people to be happy — she wanted people to feel seen.

To know that they mattered. To feel cared for.

She didn’t do it perfectly — none of us do — but she kept trying. She showed up. She loved hard.

If you want to honor her, care for someone today.

Check on the friend who’s quiet. Hug someone a little longer.

Feed the person who’s hungry. Show up for the sick, the sad, the overlooked.

Do what Breanna would do. Let her spirit live through your acts of love.

Because when someone so full of life leaves us, the best way we can keep them with us is to live like them.

To live for them. And to let them live through us.

On the day Breanna left her body, I didn’t get to say goodbye in person like many of you did.
But I followed her spirit. I went to her favorite beach — the one where she always felt the most free.

Years ago, she had worn one of my skirts and told me she felt like a queen in it.

Somehow, I still had it. I wore that same skirt, not knowing she was transitioning that very day.

And I danced for her. In her circle. On her beach. With bare feet and a cracked-open heart.

I let my grief move. I let her move through me. I felt her everywhere — in the wind, in the light, in the rhythm.

She was there. She is here.

So when you’re walking through the world and you feel a moment of sweetness in the air, or a sudden wind on your cheek, or a bird flying low across your path — let that be her.

That’s Breanna. Saying hello. Saying “I’m still with you.”

And so may we live big, just as she did.

With our hearts open like windows in the sun.

Let love be louder than fear.

Let kindness be our instinct.

Let joy be sacred — and shared.

Let us cry when we need to, laugh when we can,

and always, always choose to care.

Because in the end, it won’t be what we had that matters —

it will be how we loved.

And Breanna loved big.

Now it’s our turn.

Breanna — baby girl, you mattered.

Your life had meaning.

Your love changed people.

You were a gift to this world, and I will never stop loving you.

You are with me forever.

You are with all of us.



Fly with the angels now, bright beautiful Breanna.

We will keep dancing.

We will keep loving.

We will go big.

To the moon and back — forever and a day.