And Today Makes Thirty-Three

My brother, Jesse, would have been 33 years old today. I wonder what his 34th year on this earth would have held for him. Would this have been the year that he was able to finally get his life back after such a tumultuous 4 years? Would he have started to be the wonderful father that he was only able to be in glimpses during his struggle with this life? Would he have finally started to live the principles of the gospel this year? I'm happy that I know he is living the gospel now, with our Savior, a teacher greater than any of us could ever hope to be. A perfect teacher.

My sister, Bethany, and I were peeing our pants with laughter on the phone yesterday, recounting some of the crazy things Jesse did during his last couple of years with us. Things that may or may not have made us laugh when they actually happened.

One of the attributes that made Jesse stand out from the rest of us was how fiercely protective he was. His exposure to the harshest realities of this world gave him a sense of suspicion and danger that his more sheltered siblings could never have even conjured up in our imaginations.

Bethany visited my parents in Idaho Falls last summer with her family and recounted one night when she was awakened by a black-hooded Jesse, hovering over her bed and shouting in a whisper that someone had just broken into her van. He insisted she get up and inventory her belongings. Bethany agreed, but not until she gave him a swift verbal lashing for waking her up in the night, clad in a hooded sweatshirt, hood up, shouting about "robbers!!" Don't screw with a mother of four, dressed as a robber yourself, in the middle of the night, Jess.

He laughed, as he often did, "Sorry sis. Sorry sissy."

Bethany went out to her van to find it locked and secure, with nothing out of place. When she reported back to my brother, she noticed he was fashioning a small arsenal of weapons that consisted of an ice pick, small hammer, and a lock tied to the end of a shoe-lace, to his belt. He was unsatisfied with her report of no foul play and decided he was going to go on a patrol of the neighborhood. And then he set off into the night.

In this instance, there were no robbers. But rest assured, Jesse employed himself as the Neighborhood Watch: protector of all mini-vans, for the remainder of my sister's visit.

This story itself may not seem too extraordinary. But I tell it because it was just so him. Jesse always fancied himself a sort of vigilante... always looking for some injustice to make right, some underdog to protect or stick up for, some naive sibling he could wise-up to the "real world."

I had an awful dream the other night that something unspeakable was happening to my brother, Abe, at the hand of some corrupt government. In panic and horror, all my family could do was look to Jesse. We knew he was the only one with the strength, courage and skills to do anything. And the rest of my dream consisted of watching Jesse wreak havoc on those who were trying to harm his little brother.

I woke up relieved and desperate to see both of my brothers. And then relief settled into the all-too-familiar sadness that comes with this sort of reality. I will be gloriously reunited with my brother, Abe, in Idaho in couple of weeks. But for Jesse, I will have to wait a little longer.

One thing I do know is that it has been just over seven months since Jesse's passing and, somehow, he is still finding a way to fiercely protect his family. I am sure of that.

Happy, happy birthday, my dear brother. Your littow sistow can't wait to see your face.