Tonight we hosted a memorial at my theatre for our Master Electrician who passed away two weeks ago. Another one of my staffers and I planned most of the event. But when it came to executing it, more than a dozen people stepped up to help with food and drink, to speak, or sing or program the lights or sort photos or clean the theatre or track down videos or loan equipment. And, in case you didn’t know, theatre people like to mourn in dramatic ways. There were readings from Beckett and Thorton Wilder. There was contemporary poetry. There were knock knock jokes, blues and folk music, a multimedia slide show, and a 21 light salute. This morning while getting dressed Ben asked me, “this isn’t the sort of memorial where I need to wear black, is it?” and I replied, “No. Or if it is, I’d better cancel the circus act.” True story.

Toward the end of the evening I’d scheduled a section of time where the MC invited anyone in the audience who wanted to speak to come up and share a memory, a story, anything. I wasn’t sure if this would be a good idea or a total flop. It went on for more than an hour. There were laughter and tears and impressions and life lessons.

Now, I can plan the hell out of an event, but I can’t speak in public for shit. As the open mic section went on, my heart pounded as I even considered going up to say something (or maybe it was the fact that I’d skipped dinner and only consumed whiskey before the event started. Hard to say). Perhaps if I’d had a scrap of paper and could have made some notes, I might have done it. I regret being such a wuss. But I’m a writer, not a speaker. So, I came home and transcribed what I would have said had I managed to get up and speak:

Hi I’m J, I’m the production manager here at the theatre. I wasn’t going to speak tonight because public speaking terrifies me, but then I thought about how Brenton was afraid of nothing, or rather, he never let fear get in the way of doing anything he wanted to do.

I was Brenton’s supervisor here. Being a manager is a little like being a parent. You’re a parent, and a cheerleader and a team member and a confidant and a friend and a sibling and a coworker, all at once.

Brenton and I started in our respective positions at Court at the same time, two years ago. One of the great rewards of being Brenton’s manager was that I had the opportunity over the past two years to watch him grow from an electrician into the Master Electrician. He went from being a technician to being a manager in his own right. It was such a pleasure to watch him grow and stretch into those new challenges.

The thing about being the production department mom is that, just like an actual mom, there were things about Brenton’s life that he didn’t share with me. So it was only in the past two weeks that I got to know so many other parts of Brenton’s life – his parents Debi and Hugh, his partner Lexi, his circus friends, the folks at the Chicago Folk Festival, his climbing friends. So many overlapping circles.

Several people mentioned that Brenton used to practice his circus routines in the theatre in spite of the risk of being fired over it. I was the person who threatened to fire him. And you know what? It made no difference. Brenton was fearless, and he loved being in the air more than anything. I’m an endurance athlete, and so was Brenton. He got interested in running one day, asked me a few questions about it, and then went out and ran the 16 miles from his house to the theatre later that week. (For those of you who aren’t runners, that’s crazy town. it could take a normal person a year, or more to train up to running 16 miles for the first time). Brenton never let anything stand in his way. He was one of those people who didn’t wait around for someone else to be interested in what he was interested in. He found something he wanted to pursue, and he was off and running, exploring that thing. And while Brenton and I had a compartmentalized relationship, I sensed a kindred spirit in him in that regard. Moving through life this way can be very lonely, but it can be incredibly rewarding as well.

Tonight, as I look around at all of the people who are here from all of the part of Brenton’s life, I can see that, while he moved through life with a voracious appetite for new things, he never did it at the expense of the people in his life. Instead, it gave him the opportunity to connect to and inspire so many lives on his brief journey.

I am grateful to Brenton for bringing all of us together here tonight in order to acknowledge and celebrate that sense of community. 10 days ago, when we settled on tonight as the date for this memorial, I had this moment of utter panic. I didn’t know how to plan a memorial. And so I sent out a call to arms to about a dozen people, which quickly expanded to a group of more than 20, and tonight has expanded to the 100+ people that are in this room. Everyone had their own talent, and their own relationship with Brenton, to offer. And they offered it generously and selflessly, and every one of you here tonight is an inspiration. In gathering here tonight Brenton has showed us that we all belong to the same community, the community of his friends and family.

Thank you for being here tonight to help celebrate Brenton.

As I said, Brenton moved through this life fearlessly. If I can take one gift from him, it will be the inspiration to move through my life with less fear. Next time, maybe, I’ll get up and say the things. Maybe. And when I do, I’ll think of Brenton.