"When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He's written 'He dies.' That's all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is, 'He dies.' It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with 'He dies.' And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words 'He dies,' but because of the life we saw prior to the words.
. . .
"I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading... and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest 'He died.'" -- Mr. Magorium
I lost my brother about four days ago. He died in his sleep at the age of 34. His wife, Brooke, and their five beautiful children were in Utah visiting Brooke's family. I keep thinking that he's going to walk into the room and tell us all to quit the waterworks and go do something fun. I remember when I left to come down to BYU for the first time and I was making the rounds, getting teary-eyed. When I got to Mark, he laughed at me and said, "Are you done with your girl moment? Can I hug you now?"
Well, Mark, you're going to have to let me go through a few more girl moments, because I'm just not ready to say goodbye yet.
Remember that rocking horse you and Dad made for me when I was born? It's in the garage in Vernonia now. I remember writing a couple stories and essays about that horse. I always bragged to my friends that my big brother made it for me. You spoiled me, you know, you and Dad. You're both so good at everything, it makes it hard for a girl to find someone to fit the bill.
You were always looking out for me, you and your friends. I was the annoying little girl that wouldn't leave you alone. I remember sitting out on the steps when you were playing basketball and watching you. And then, eventually, you'd come over and put me on your shoulders and walk over the the hoop, and one of the guys would hand me the ball. Hehe,I remember when Big Brian let me steer your truck to David's while I was sitting on his knee.
I would get so mad at you back then! You were always holding my head with one hand and telling me to hit you, or pretending I was a typewriter, or flat-out wrestling me to the ground. And then there was the never-ending knuckle-popping! I wanted to scream! (I often did). You always had the same excuse: "It's for her own good; she's got to learn to defend herself. She's got to fight off all those boys." (Still waiting for that to happen, Mark).
But as much as I protested against you for that, I was always bragging about you to my friends. You were my hero. You were so strong and confident in everything you did. Whenever I pictured Nephi, this teenage prophet who was "large in stature" and completely stalwart in his faith, I pictured you.
Mom likes to tell the story of when you got your appendix removed. There was a game the next weekend and a bunch of your football friends showed up at the hospital with balloons and things. You convinced the doctor to let you play. Mom was so mad! She went out and got depends and made you wear them as extra padding on your side while you played. But you still went. You played, and you won the game.
And then you went on your mission. I still tell people that my claim to fame is the tape you sent from the MTC to play at my baptism. You gave a talk, remember, and a bunch of your buddies joined you in singing a song. And one of those buddies later became part of Jericho Road. I was always knew that my big brother would be there for me, even if he couldn't be physically present. I still know that you'll be there for me now.
I remember the night before we met you to say goodbye at the airport (back when you could do that), when it finally registered in my mind that I wasn't going to be able to see or talk to you for two whole years. I don't know if I ever told you, but I cried myself to sleep that night.
And I was so mad when you got home and ran off to get married right away, because I had finally started to like you. And then you were gone again.
But over the years, as I grew up, I talked to you more and more. And you went from being my bully big brother and my hero to being one of my best friends. And I would still get frustrated with you sometimes, because you always had to be right. I called it your "lawyer voice," that tone that you put on when you expected me to disagree with you and you were determined to show me that you were right. The most frustrating part about it was that you were right a lot of the time -- not all of the time, mind you, but a lot of the time.
You were always looking out for me, pushing me to be better without letting me think less of myself. And you always had good advice. I keep wanting to pick up the phone and talk to you, because I know you'd be able to tell me what to do.
I'm so glad that you called me on Wednesday, before you left us. I'm sure you had no idea how important that phone call would be, but I'm also sure that you were led by the Spirit to know what to say. I remember being concerned because you sounded so tired, but I didn't say anything because you had already started threatening boys again, and delivering the lecture that you meant for them. But then it changed. You started talking about trusting in the Lord and what it means to love someone. You said part of trusting the Lord is being willing to do the work, and make difficult decisions by yourself, and take a step into the dark. You said that marriage is part of that same trust -- that loving someone is as simple as wanting to make them happy, but that you have to be willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.
You told me about your relationship with Brooke, and how you learned that this was true. You talked about how much she hates it when you leave your socks on the floor, and about how you had an epiphone about six months ago that you could make your wife happier each day by picking up your socks. So, you made an effort to start picking up your socks every day. At this point, you apologized for rambling and called this a stupid example, and then said something about how it's the little things like that that make the difference.
And then you said that you were proud of me, and that I would find somebody that would do whatever it took to make me happy, someone I would do whatever it took to make happy, as well.
People keep saying how much you loved me, and how proud you were of me. And I knew it; I always heard it in your voice. I still feel it. When my home teachers came to give me a blessing after I heard the news, they said that Heavenly Father wanted me to know that you love me and that you're okay. I do know it. I hope you know that I love and miss you so much, and that I will always be proud that you are my big brother. I thank my Heavenly Father that I was blessed to have you in my life; I thank my Savior, Jesus Christ for making it possible for me to be your baby sister for Eternity. I hope and pray that I can live up to it.
All my love,
Debra
