Wistful

I am really missing my brothers. They live far, far away (because of meager excuses like living where the US Air Force says they have to or attending college. Huh.). I am proud of them. I appreciate their service. I am impressed by the men they have grown into.


I miss them.




I miss their sense of humor(s). They are, collectively the funniest people I have ever known (and I include some professional commedians in that group). They are milk snortingly, side-splittingly, achingly funny. All of them. They are each different, but each hysterical. I miss that.



I miss their creativity. If you want the best easter-eggs or most creative jack-o-lanterns in the world--these are the guys you want. For story telling, magic tricks,the best birthday parties or guitar sing alongs--they are the guys. Sigh.




I miss the shared memories we have. Two of them are (for all practical purposes) the closest in age to me in the family. We (of course!) lived through some chunks of family history that either the others didn't, or that they were just to small to remember adequately. I just wish I had someone to reminisce with about those things--the dirt hills, Jerry-Don, The Log, the best sledding hill in the world, walking to the river to go fishing (pointlessly). Using the windows in the Wilford house as our own private doorways.



I miss their hands on practicality. They built an awesome clubhouse when they were under 12 years old (2 rooms, windows & a trapdoor--and full platform roof that was used as extra rooms). They could make whatever device was needed at the time, including a mechanism to shut out the light from across the room without getting out of bed (it involved fishing line, weights & pulleys, I recall).



I wish that my kids could have them as close by, hands on uncles. There are so many awesome uncle-y skills they have, that I (as a supremely uncool mother) lack. The words to all of those scout camp songs. All of the skits. Whittling skills. Stories of hiking through the Teton Peaks, of dancing in a Koshare Indian Dance troupe, of fencing (both kinds!). How to fix a bike--or fine tune it. How to play the guitar.




I miss their kids and their wives.

I am grateful for living in a time of easy communication, but that doesn't change the fact that I miss them.

Grief

I found out today that one of my dear friends has died. She left this mortal world suddenly, leaving behind a huge wake of pain, grief and unanswered questions. Patrice was my first mission companion. As an active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I chose to serve an 18 month mission, far from my home and family, speaking a foreign language (it was a humility thing--I asked God to send me somewhere foreign that didn't speak Spanish, having just scraped painfully through a year of Spanish 1 in college--and He sent me to Los Angeles, Spanish speaking. It ended up great, and I loved it, but I would never have chosen it for myself). I paid for the chance to give up college and dating for a year and a half, and in return I got the most amazing life lessons possible.




A mission is a microcosm of life. You are with a companion (of the same gender) 24/7. You study together, teach together, do service together, do laundry together. Sometimes your companions become lifelong friends. Sometimes they are just endured. Hopefully, you learn important lessons about communication, about humility and life skills. The most important lessons you learn are about obedience to God, and becoming a Selfless Service to others as you try to become a true disciple of the Savior.

My mission prepared me for life, for marriage and for future service. I gained MANY wonderful things from it, but the sweetest blessings of all were the friendships I gained. Patrice and I were friends from the start--from day 1. We had so much in common, so much to talk about. We ended up serving together 3 times during our missions, and were room-mates, too.




While I was serving, my family moved across the country, so I ended up going "home" to a new state, new town, new friends. The miles and the years came between us, but we were still friends, even though we didn't talk much.

I was shocked to hear of her passing. I know that this mortal life is not the end of our existence. I know that we have so much to do after we leave this short session on earth--work and friendships and much, much more. However, I grieve for myself, for the talks we won't get to have, for the phone calls and the letters and the inspiration that I am going to miss.




I grieve for her family, left without her smile, trying to make sense of their new reality, left with ripples of pain, frustration and grief. I hope they know that even when they feel mad at God, that He keeps loving them, just the way I loved my small angry toddler when they furiously yelled that they hated me. I knew that they were hungry, tired, and having a meltdown, and that as soon as their little bodies had what they needed, they would be able to feel love again. God is big enough to take it. When we are sad, angry, hostile, horrible--He still loves us, and He loves us even through our pain.

There are no words that I can say that will take their hurt away. I have gone through the lonely and painful path of grief. I can't even fix the stupid, painful things people will say as they try to help ("Everything happens for a reason", "She's in a better place now" "Jesus needed her more than you did") the things that make you want to scream and throw things. The only thing I can say is "I hurt with you, and I am praying for you--and I won't stop".




Au Revoir, Patrice. I love you, I will miss you. Till we meet again.