All My Gettings

In two days, my little brother will be dropped off, rather hastily, in Provo. Because the MTC is the only place more concerned about pandemic influenza than I am, his family won’t be allowed to come in. This is a plus and a minus, given the fact that Called To Serve may or may not have been crafted specifically as a kind of tear-inducing emotional torture. On the other hand, having some sort of ceremony seems almost necessary for the reality of it all to hit.

Since watching him open his mission call, I’ve been cycling through a whole series of emotions. But now, I’ve finally settled on the fact that, above all else, I’m sad. I’m really going to miss him. It’s not that I don’t realize that he’s doing a good thing. Or that serving the people of Thailand will be invaluable for him. I’m just being selfish and petty that I won’t have anybody to ask me if I’ve already watered the cats.

Or anybody to fully appreciate when the ground sloth makes his appearance in Kentucky in a couple of weeks. I’ll miss getting random texts about dulcimers and books preparing people to die. I’ll miss being reminded that I’m twenty-five years old when I act particularly childish. I’ll also miss seeing his brain implode, rapidly, when I try to explain some theological position I hold. Like all good brothers, he amuses me and infuriates me in pretty equal measure. He’s a good guy, too, something that’s become more apparent the more adult-y he’s become. It’s weird to try and imagine holidays and even weekends where he’ll be only a thought and not a physical presence.

I’m sure the two years will fly by. I mean, I’ve been out of library school for two years now and I cannot believe how short his stay at BYU felt. But still, it’s hard to think of him leaving and me having such little contact with him. He'll be missed, probably much more than he realizes.