I received a letter from Meg some time ago. In it she reminded me of a time when she needed help. She thought of the people in her life and the blessings they brought. In remembering an unknown peace filled her heart. It was accompanied by greater feelings of joy and of healing. It was the help she needed. I know I need help too, and though I know I can't force it, I will try her path of remembrance.
Meg. She is the first. I love her for so many reasons, I love her for saving me, for literally being my hero. I love her for concerts and holding hands. I love her for teaching me what it means to love someone enough to miss them. I love her for introducing me to Alonzo Gaskil and the Lost Language of Symbolism, dreams of book clubs, and delicious blondies. I love her for always believing that Santa and/or love existed. I love her for missions and primordial decisions to go, for the peace that we both sought in the matter and that we both found. I love her for "ridiculously reverent drawing" spaces, for 2 am conversations regarding philosophy and love and design, that she taught me to look for beauty and find it, and also that God is a designer. I love her for Pablo Neruda and "Tonight I can write..." for the beautiful book she made as a gift for my friend, her willingness to serve and share and bless. I love her smile and her laugh.
Becca. For kindnesses upon kindnesses, for watching conference together, for bike rides/tricycle rides, for holding hands and almost wrecking and thinking it would have been funnier if we really had. I love her for what she endured/learned in Japan, that her mission was also hard, but that she did it. I love her for being worthy of my trust and for being willing to listen to both my joys and my sorrows, and in her listening making the sorrows lighter and easier to bear. I love her for Easter and dropped jelly rolls and letting me share my philosophy paper with her and her sharing her film with me even in its unfinished stage. I still remember the bed and ballerinas and rain and Gordon with bleached hair (before I had even met him). I love her for Davis and Abby and California and running into the cold, cold water of the Pacific Ocean together. I love her because she wanted to marry my brother, just like Meg. I love her because of Interpol.
Kristina. For letters that begin "This is a love letter," and contain quotes from Soren K. that she knows me and loves me that much. I love her for being with Meg and I at every show, to the point that when I am at a show without her I feel alone. I love her for her New England snobbery and pride in their falls. I love her for hot chocolate on cold days and sledding together even in the most blustery conditions. I love her for conference (no one reminds me of general conference more than her). I love her for rational choice theory lists made on my computer concerning important matters and for dance parties in my bedroom with my little brother after to make all of us feel better. I love her for stationary bike rides, New York Times articles, and the word "Finished" when we were finished with our workouts. I love her for the House of the Republicans and trash cookies and Reid saying of her, "Bless her heart, but I don't think she's really a democrat." I love her for her immense wisdom and rational, that she is more logical and honest than anyone I know.
Hyrum. For being my brother, hero, and friend. I love him for setting an example before me and introducing me to much if not all that I have held dear in my life, starting from the time I was 8 when he baptized me. I love him for serving a mission in Portugal and making me love the people there and making me want to serve a mission too. I love him for his letters at that time and for his reminders to pray. I love him for coming home with more love and humility and gratitude. I love him for track and calling me the day before my meets to encourage me and tell me that I would do well, because I was a hard worker, and his demands that I call him afterward. I don't love him for the nick name he bestowed upon me in my childhood of "cryer patch baby" but am grateful that he bought me candy each time he did make me cry. I love him for introducing me to political science and philosophy and his favorite professors, for believing in me academically, and letting me know that I was smart and could be successful in school and in life. I am grateful that despite of what I choose to do he thinks I would be a good lawyer and that it would fit me. I love him for Interpol and other music recommendations. I love him for Policy and Los Angeles. I love him for Pegah. I love him for 3 am telephone conversations right before I got my mission call about his own mission and the things he learned and remembered, for telling me he was proud of me and that he knew I would make people's lives better, that the Holy Ghost is real and would give me words to say. I love him for thrown tacos and songs about Sam and the nerd patrol, and ridiculous questions like "What planet do you hate the most?" among other things. I love him for the first time he told me he loved me.