A letter to my friend

I've been thinking a lot about my brother-in-law, Mike, lately.  This month he would have turned thirty.   I really wish he would have turned thirty.  It would be fun to see how he handled it and the funny comments he would have said about it at his birthday party.  Thirty would have suited him well. 

I'm missing him a lot lately.  The road of grief is so interesting.  When we discovered he had passed in early April, we were reeling.  It consumed my thoughts as I went to bed.  I would wake up and immediately remember and then it would keep me up.  It made me physically sick.  But so soon afterward, my dad was dying and all my grief and emotions transferred to him.  And now, it has been eight months since I have seen Mike and it's like my heart has started to heal the tiniest bit from my dad and it has made a little crack to grieve Mike again.

What I've come to realize about Mike is what good friends we were.  My husband had a life history with him.  They had childhood memories and teenage embarrassments.  Mike and I met when I was 19 and he was 20.  He came along with the great package of marrying Chris.  Mike and I certainly didn't run with the same crowds.  Although he was highly intelligent, he just wasn't the preppy type.  And let's face it, I don't go bar hopping.  So, had it not been for marriage, I wouldn't have become friends with him simply because we likely never would have met socially.  But, I know that if I worked in the same place he did or went to school with him I would definitely have liked Mike.  There is a lot to like.  I am realizing now more than ever I am not missing my brother-in-law, I am missing my friend.

Mike had vices like we all do.  His vices had industrial grip and they effected his quality of life.  Though these struggles prevented him from progressing in some ways, they didn't hinder his generosity or love.  Mike knew how to give.  He always gave gifts that were so thoughtful and likely beyond his means.  One of my favorite gifts from him was a kitchen mat with a cat and flower plastered on it.  Honestly, I returned it, and he knew it.  But the thought is so sweet -- she likes cooking, she likes animals, she likes pretty things . . . Bam! A kitten kitchen mat -- perfect!  Instead of just giving Hallie one present, he would get her tons of little ones and then sit down and play them all with her one by one.  The last time I saw Mike, he came over for help with an English term paper.  Even though he had a deadline looming over him, he went in the backyard and ran around with Hallie for ten minutes before he came in to work.  I remember looking at the window and being so impressed by his commitment to being an uncle.  Of course, I didn't know that was his last earthly example of it.  He also came bearing gifts that day -- grape bubble yum.  He even bought me lunch for helping him and we had fun stuffing ourselves with loaded carne asada nachos and tacos dripping with pico de gallo.

We certainly weren't the chat on the phone type of friends.  And we never hung out other than our family dinners and get-togethers.  His cigarette smoke was heavy but his conversations were stimulating.  And when we disagreed, he always made a visible effort to kindly compliment me so we stayed on good terms.  And we did.

A friend shared this quote to me and I love it.  It is from a deceased prophet of our church, President Joseph F. Smith.  And for those not of my faith, it is still a comfort and something nice to think about.   He said that we are "closely related" to those who have preceded us into heaven. They "can see us better than we can see them; they know us better than we know them. I claim that we live in their presence; they see us; they are solicitous of our welfare. They love us now more than ever." (Gospel Doctrine, p. 430)

With that thought, I have some things I need to say to Mike that I'd like to get out right here.  Perhaps, he'll be able to read them someday.

Hey Mike, I miss your laugh.  I'm sad that my girls don't get to grow up with you.  Hallie really adored you and Claire was just coming into her own when you died.  There are certain things that always make me think of you.  Whenever I see a cab or a silver car shaped like yours, it tugs at my heart.  Whenever I see sweat pants or henleys, I flash back to you relaxing after a good meal.  Whenever I see Golden Corral I think about how you said they have surprisingly good steak there.  Whenever I see that taco joint, I think of our last meal together and how good the guacamole was.  Whenever I make something I know you would like, I think of you.  Whenever Mom makes something delicious I think about how you would call it "good grub" or say it was "bomb."  When Claire was born, you told me she looked like you and I honestly thought you were silly . . . but I looked at the pictures and she totally does resemble you at that age.  You frequently told me I would enjoy books by Terry Goodkind.  I always had ten other books I wanted to read first.  I watched the television series based on his books and guess what?  I loved it.  You were right and I am flattered you knew me that well.  This city is yours.  When I drive downtown I think of you.  When I drive near the foothills I think of you.  Thanks for the nine years of friendship.  I am really glad we got to meet and I feel lucky to be your first sister.  I miss you.